Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Braddy Reads The Thirteenth Tale
Part of me is bugged by self-referential art: movies about moviemaking, poems about poetry, rock songs about how great it is to rock. These particular expressions are good enough for those who are already fans of a genre, but how must they look to the potential convert? Doesn’t good art have the unspoken responsibility to proselytize to those unfamiliar with it?
I dunno.
Diane Setterfield’s The Thirteenth Tale is a book about books (as one can easily determine when, contrary to conventional wisdom, one judges the book by its cover). The story follows Margaret Lea, a bookstore employee and sometime biographer, after she is employed to write the life story of the reclusive Vida Winter, England’s premier novelist. What follows is a twisted, convoluted, and fascinating tale of hauntings, tragedies, and twins.
This is actually my second time reading The Thirteenth Tale. I’d recommended the book to a friend without ever reading it, based solely on the strength of the cover image. I picked the book up nearly a year later, shortly after graduating from college. I’ve remembered the book fondly since then, even though many of the particulars of the story, including the details surrounding the twist ending, have escaped me.
After re-reading The Thirteenth Tale, I can re-confirm what I’ve long told people when describing the story – it’s a more or less contemporary take on classic “haunted house” stories (I can’t help but think of Wuthering Heights when I read Setterfield’s novel). Whether you like the book or not would depend largely on how much you like that kind of literature.
A knowledge of classical literature, especially stories like Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and The Turn of the Screw seems almost prerequisite. This is NOT a book for the initiate. One who doesn’t much care for reading will likely not get much out of The Thirteenth Tale... at least, not in my estimation. Perhaps I’m wrong there.
Avid readers, though? Those who like words and how they can line up in a sort of harmonious dance? Those readers will find a lot to like in The Thirteenth Tale. They will be reminded how great it is to rock.
Monday, November 26, 2012
The Evolution Will Be Digitized
Something’s missing. Simple as that. I feel like my priorities have been all askew, that I’ve focused too much on the accumulation of things and not enough on the cultivation of the soul, as it were. So I did a search on my brand-new iPad Mini for ways to become less materialistic…
Okay, that’s not true. It’s an anecdote I thought would be humorous, but I haven’t had the chance to use, since I don’t have an iPad Mini (yet – I’m saving my nickels already). The rest of the stuff above, though? Totally true.
I enjoy collecting things. All sorts of things. I’ve got bookshelves groaning under the weight of bargain-priced paperbacks and thick, hardcover art books alike. My T.V. stand is packed from one end to the other with DVD cases for films I haven’t watched in years. I have board games stuffed in my closet, waiting for the day I decide to finally start socializing again. I like stuff, and I spend most of my time trying to figure out how to get more of it.
And that makes me a terrible person, I’m sure.
But getting back to the iPad – and yes, there is a connection. I read a while back an article on a bit of controversy surrounding e-readers in the comics collecting community. Both Marvel and DC comics (and I assume all the little publishers no one but me cares about) have apps that allow the digital connoisseur to access and browse years, maybe decades, of old material. However, people who have e-readers don’t own these books. In fact, the terms of service for using these apps state that the big publishers can revoke a person’s access to the material they paid for for any reason.
Comics fans, of course, got upset. The comics community is one that hasthrived limped along for years on the backs of the collector. Comics fans spend tons of money on collected volumes of their favorite stories, or alternate printings of individual issues with variant covers, or action figures of the most iconic characters. So, while the e-reader revolution provided these individuals with unprecedented access to the material they loved so much, it simultaneously revoked their right to own said material.
Honestly, I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing.
Let’s look at another, similar situation. The film industry seems to be trying to find a way to make a person pay for every time they choose to watch a movie. While home entertainment systems and streaming video have crippled big theaters, they have also granted movie studios a way to nickel-and-dime extra income out of their potential audiences. A person pays a dollar every time they get a movie from Redbox. Netflix has their charges, as well. Even someone who chooses only to stream movies and. T.V. shows through Netflix is still paying a monthly rate for that privilege. And, at the end of the day, the consumer owns nothing.
I’m a frequent patron of the city library system here in Salt Lake. On their front screen, a rotating image often displays the following quote:
The first time I read that quote, I bristled a bit. After all, I’m someone who loves his books. I like browsing the titles, gloating over every one I’ve read and looking forward with great anticipation to those I haven’t. Maybe the books are just the plate and not the food, as Adams says, but aren’t there people out there who collect plates?
Heh. I’m really not sure I want to be one of those people.
I think it’s possible that the digitalization of media removes a lot of the motivation to own things. Renting, or streaming, or whatever the @^$% you call it, seems to be cheaper, convenient, and hardly an inconvenience at all. Is it possible, then, that this new age of media distribution could cultivate a less materialistic attitude among the consumer population?
Heck if I know. I’m still saving up for my iPad Mini.
Okay, that’s not true. It’s an anecdote I thought would be humorous, but I haven’t had the chance to use, since I don’t have an iPad Mini (yet – I’m saving my nickels already). The rest of the stuff above, though? Totally true.
I enjoy collecting things. All sorts of things. I’ve got bookshelves groaning under the weight of bargain-priced paperbacks and thick, hardcover art books alike. My T.V. stand is packed from one end to the other with DVD cases for films I haven’t watched in years. I have board games stuffed in my closet, waiting for the day I decide to finally start socializing again. I like stuff, and I spend most of my time trying to figure out how to get more of it.
And that makes me a terrible person, I’m sure.
But getting back to the iPad – and yes, there is a connection. I read a while back an article on a bit of controversy surrounding e-readers in the comics collecting community. Both Marvel and DC comics (and I assume all the little publishers no one but me cares about) have apps that allow the digital connoisseur to access and browse years, maybe decades, of old material. However, people who have e-readers don’t own these books. In fact, the terms of service for using these apps state that the big publishers can revoke a person’s access to the material they paid for for any reason.
Comics fans, of course, got upset. The comics community is one that has
Honestly, I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing.
Let’s look at another, similar situation. The film industry seems to be trying to find a way to make a person pay for every time they choose to watch a movie. While home entertainment systems and streaming video have crippled big theaters, they have also granted movie studios a way to nickel-and-dime extra income out of their potential audiences. A person pays a dollar every time they get a movie from Redbox. Netflix has their charges, as well. Even someone who chooses only to stream movies and. T.V. shows through Netflix is still paying a monthly rate for that privilege. And, at the end of the day, the consumer owns nothing.
I’m a frequent patron of the city library system here in Salt Lake. On their front screen, a rotating image often displays the following quote:
The first time I read that quote, I bristled a bit. After all, I’m someone who loves his books. I like browsing the titles, gloating over every one I’ve read and looking forward with great anticipation to those I haven’t. Maybe the books are just the plate and not the food, as Adams says, but aren’t there people out there who collect plates?
Heh. I’m really not sure I want to be one of those people.
I think it’s possible that the digitalization of media removes a lot of the motivation to own things. Renting, or streaming, or whatever the @^$% you call it, seems to be cheaper, convenient, and hardly an inconvenience at all. Is it possible, then, that this new age of media distribution could cultivate a less materialistic attitude among the consumer population?
Heck if I know. I’m still saving up for my iPad Mini.
You Can't Unsee It
Attention, children of the 80s: I'm about to blow your mind.
If you're not ready to have your mind blown, then click away now.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Ready?
HUH!
Good God, y'all!
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing!
Listen to me!
Ohh!
I despise
Because it means destruction
Of innocent lives.
It ain't nothing but a heartbreaker.
Friend only to the undertaker.
OOOOOOH!
HUH!
Good God, y'all!
What is it good for?
Stand up and shout it:
NOTHING!
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Poem of the Week
Otherwise
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.
At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.
***
Okay, so I'm not going to be here on Friday, cuz, you know, holiday or whatever. So I thought I'd share a Thanksgiving poem. You know, about gratitude.
The sad part, though, is that it eventually was otherwise. Jane Kenyon passed away in 1995 at 47.
Friday, November 16, 2012
An Inception-Level Conspiracy
So last night I come home to find that there's been a case of vandalism at my parents' house. The house was truly a mess - plants in the yard had been completely destroyed, the sidewalks were covered with chalk and spray paint, and the car doors were dinged and dented. Most bizarrely, it seems someone opened up several cans of tuna fish and smeared the contents all over the exterior walls of the house. The mess would take hours to clean, a prospect incredibly demoralizing to both me and the rest of the family.
Only one thing took precedence: Tracking down the vandals.
In opening so many cans of tuna, the culprits had unwittingly made themselves easier to identify. They had left behind a trail of grease droplets to follow. We followed a trail of filthy smudges left on the sidewalk up the street, our heads lowered, oblivious to everything around us except the criminal's path. Soon we came across a bizarre sight on the ground. There, on the sidewalk, someone had sketched an image of Kurt Vonnegut's signature, with a mass of leaves from a fallen tree indicating the hair. Whoever left the trail knew we would follow. We had been lead to this point on purpose.
We raised our eyes and saw a house, even more damages than the one we had left. Trees had been completely felled, and the paint had been maliciously scraped from the siding. Filled with both anger and sadness, we set to work cleaning, while my mother went and knocked on the door.
I didn't hear the ensuing conversation between my mother and the woman inside, but it soon became clear that the woman wasn't happy, and it was more than the vandalism upsetting her. She was angry. In the only snippet of the conversation I could make out, I heard the woman say, "It's your fault."
Us! She was blaming us for the destruction! I couldn't believe it. We began to return home, all of us shocked that we were considered to be somehow complicit in everything. I could only conclude that, somehow, we were being framed.
Upon returning home, I found another trail of drops from the empty tuna cans, this one leading off in a different direction. Again, we eagerly followed the trail, hoping that, this time, we would be led to the true criminals. I guess we shouldn't have been surprised to find that we were again being toyed with. However, I don't think there was any way we could have been prepared for the sight at the end of the trail.
Underneath a large oak tree, someone had laid out a large buffet for us. There were trays loaded with fresh, juicy pineapple and watermelon, thin-sliced lunch meats, rolls and breads, and coolers full of soda. Hungry from our morning's exertions, we eagerly tucked in. I bit into a piece of pineapple, but in spite of the fruit's sweetness, I felt an unmistakable dread. I spat the fruit out, wiped my hand on my shirt, and moved quickly to the head of the buffet table.
There, in a plastic sleeve, written on a slip of yellow paper, was a typed note from the vandals:
At once, the whole affair became maliciously stupid. The vandals, although meticulous in their plans, had at once proven their own witlessness. I wanted nothing more than to chase one of these wrong-headed social crusaders down and beat him around the head with my own fists.
At this point, some of you readers may have guessed that I dreamed this whole experience. I myself only became aware of this after hearing the voices of my roommates outside the door. I slowly rose from my bed. My eyes were clouded and bleary; I couldn't make out the time on the clock in my room. I stepped into the hallway and went to the kitchen, where the clock on the oven would be easier for me to read. It was about 5:00 - a little earlier than when I usually woke, but not so early that I could really think about going back to bed.
I opened the door to the refrigerator and shook my head. I had a half-gallon of milk, but no cereal. I didn't want to skip out on breakfast again, so I went to the pantry to see if I could scrounge something up. Then I saw a box of Golden Crisp cereal I had bought and then forgotten, stuffed way in the back of the pantry. I pulled it out and poured myself a bowl, and then I sat at the kitchen table to eat.
I heard steps come up the stairs. I blinked and looked up. My father rounded the corner and took a seat opposite me. Before I had the chance to say "good morning," he looked up at me, grinned, and said, "No one threatens my family."
I put my spoon down. Had the bizarre dream actually happened? Was there something actually going on, a conspiracy to match the one I thought I had only imagined? Was there, in fact, some knuckle-headed vandal I could wrap my fists around and pummel?
As it turns out, no, but my father had his own tale of vengeance to tell. He had been out the night previous with my sister-in-law and her child. My brother had gone out for work and asked my father if he would check in on the rest of the family. When my dad showed up, my brother's wife was shaken and visibly pale.
She had received a threatening phone call. This, my father would not abide. His eyes began to shine with excitement as he dove into his plan for vengeance. I gripped my spoon and bent in to listen. He went to a local phone store and bought a cheap phone. Then, with the caller's number in hand, he dialed the phone and...
Once again, I heard the sound of a roommate moving around outside my bedroom. I opened my eyes and got out of bed. A dream within a dream? I'd never had one quite like that before, one quite so vivid. I wondered almost absently if I were, perhaps, still dreaming.
I turned on the light and checked the time. It was 6:10. No more time for absent wondering - I was about to miss the bus.
Like so many dreams, the one I describe above contains snippets of real-life experiences. I watched a video that poked fun at Jessica Simpson's inability to understand tuna fish. I just recently read my first Kurt Vonnegut novel. I really DON'T have any cereal at home. But for there to be any deeper meaning... man, I don't know that I can connect THOSE dots, not with the largest pencil in the world.
Only one thing took precedence: Tracking down the vandals.
In opening so many cans of tuna, the culprits had unwittingly made themselves easier to identify. They had left behind a trail of grease droplets to follow. We followed a trail of filthy smudges left on the sidewalk up the street, our heads lowered, oblivious to everything around us except the criminal's path. Soon we came across a bizarre sight on the ground. There, on the sidewalk, someone had sketched an image of Kurt Vonnegut's signature, with a mass of leaves from a fallen tree indicating the hair. Whoever left the trail knew we would follow. We had been lead to this point on purpose.
We raised our eyes and saw a house, even more damages than the one we had left. Trees had been completely felled, and the paint had been maliciously scraped from the siding. Filled with both anger and sadness, we set to work cleaning, while my mother went and knocked on the door.
I didn't hear the ensuing conversation between my mother and the woman inside, but it soon became clear that the woman wasn't happy, and it was more than the vandalism upsetting her. She was angry. In the only snippet of the conversation I could make out, I heard the woman say, "It's your fault."
Us! She was blaming us for the destruction! I couldn't believe it. We began to return home, all of us shocked that we were considered to be somehow complicit in everything. I could only conclude that, somehow, we were being framed.
Upon returning home, I found another trail of drops from the empty tuna cans, this one leading off in a different direction. Again, we eagerly followed the trail, hoping that, this time, we would be led to the true criminals. I guess we shouldn't have been surprised to find that we were again being toyed with. However, I don't think there was any way we could have been prepared for the sight at the end of the trail.
Underneath a large oak tree, someone had laid out a large buffet for us. There were trays loaded with fresh, juicy pineapple and watermelon, thin-sliced lunch meats, rolls and breads, and coolers full of soda. Hungry from our morning's exertions, we eagerly tucked in. I bit into a piece of pineapple, but in spite of the fruit's sweetness, I felt an unmistakable dread. I spat the fruit out, wiped my hand on my shirt, and moved quickly to the head of the buffet table.
There, in a plastic sleeve, written on a slip of yellow paper, was a typed note from the vandals:
You should have known that there would be no way for you to track us, unless we, the true supervillains, let you come our way. Now that you've worked so hard, it might be a good time for you to reevaluate your life and take a more pro-choice stance.I crumpled the note and threw it on the ground. A more "pro-choice" stance? All the destruction, the suspicion, was spurred on by a political statement? I was furious - not just that the petty destruction was so personal in its focus, but that it was so misdirected. After all, I consider myself to be fairly "pro-choice." My adversary obviously had no idea what he was doing.
At once, the whole affair became maliciously stupid. The vandals, although meticulous in their plans, had at once proven their own witlessness. I wanted nothing more than to chase one of these wrong-headed social crusaders down and beat him around the head with my own fists.
***
At this point, some of you readers may have guessed that I dreamed this whole experience. I myself only became aware of this after hearing the voices of my roommates outside the door. I slowly rose from my bed. My eyes were clouded and bleary; I couldn't make out the time on the clock in my room. I stepped into the hallway and went to the kitchen, where the clock on the oven would be easier for me to read. It was about 5:00 - a little earlier than when I usually woke, but not so early that I could really think about going back to bed.
I opened the door to the refrigerator and shook my head. I had a half-gallon of milk, but no cereal. I didn't want to skip out on breakfast again, so I went to the pantry to see if I could scrounge something up. Then I saw a box of Golden Crisp cereal I had bought and then forgotten, stuffed way in the back of the pantry. I pulled it out and poured myself a bowl, and then I sat at the kitchen table to eat.
I heard steps come up the stairs. I blinked and looked up. My father rounded the corner and took a seat opposite me. Before I had the chance to say "good morning," he looked up at me, grinned, and said, "No one threatens my family."
I put my spoon down. Had the bizarre dream actually happened? Was there something actually going on, a conspiracy to match the one I thought I had only imagined? Was there, in fact, some knuckle-headed vandal I could wrap my fists around and pummel?
As it turns out, no, but my father had his own tale of vengeance to tell. He had been out the night previous with my sister-in-law and her child. My brother had gone out for work and asked my father if he would check in on the rest of the family. When my dad showed up, my brother's wife was shaken and visibly pale.
She had received a threatening phone call. This, my father would not abide. His eyes began to shine with excitement as he dove into his plan for vengeance. I gripped my spoon and bent in to listen. He went to a local phone store and bought a cheap phone. Then, with the caller's number in hand, he dialed the phone and...
***
Once again, I heard the sound of a roommate moving around outside my bedroom. I opened my eyes and got out of bed. A dream within a dream? I'd never had one quite like that before, one quite so vivid. I wondered almost absently if I were, perhaps, still dreaming.
I turned on the light and checked the time. It was 6:10. No more time for absent wondering - I was about to miss the bus.
Like so many dreams, the one I describe above contains snippets of real-life experiences. I watched a video that poked fun at Jessica Simpson's inability to understand tuna fish. I just recently read my first Kurt Vonnegut novel. I really DON'T have any cereal at home. But for there to be any deeper meaning... man, I don't know that I can connect THOSE dots, not with the largest pencil in the world.
Poem of the Week
John & Mary
John & Mary had never met. They were like
two hummingbirds who also had never met.
-from a freshman’s short story
two hummingbirds who also had never met.
-from a freshman’s short story
They were like gazelles who occupied different
grassy plains, running in opposite directions
from different lions. They were like postal clerks
in different zip codes, with different vacation time,
their bosses adamant and clock-driven.
How could they get together?
They were like two people who couldn’t get together.
John was a Sufi with a love of the dervish,
Mary of course a Christian with a curfew.
They were like two dolphins in the immensity
of the Atlantic, one playful,
the other stuck in a tuna net –
two absolutely different childhoods!
There was simply no hope for them.
They would never speak in person.
When they ran across that windswept field
toward each other, they were like two freight trains,
one having left Seattle at 6:36 P.M.
at an unknown speed, the other delayed
in Topeka for repairs.
The math indicated that they’d embrace
in another world, if at all, like parallel lines.
Or merely appear kindred and close, like stars.
***
I stumbled across this poem recently, and... well, I don't know. Maybe it's just because I was in the middle of NaNoWriMo, but I found the whole idea that a stereotypically BAD bit of writing could be turned into something beautiful and meaningful.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
One Day
...I'll figure out how to get down from this ledge!
Since I've been thinking so much about lighting (and not, you know, actually PRACTICING shading or anything like that), I thought I'd try to draw something that required a bit of practice with lighting. A sunset seemed to be the best place to start.
Shading's a bit difficult to do when your only tool is to draw a line, but I gave it a go anyway. Not to toot my own horn, but... I think I made that water look pretty good.
Aaaaand with that, I just invited someone to comment, "That's supposed to be WATER?!"
If I were to go back and do this one again (which, actually, would be the THIRD time attempting this scene), I'd leave out the thicker lines in the water. They're a bit more distracting, and I think the thinner lines do a better job of portraying the light on the water by themselves.
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