Book Review: Legend

Legend by Marie Lu (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2011. 305 pp)

Marie Lu was born near Shanghai, China, in 1984. She attended the University of Southern California, and before becoming a full-time writer, she was an Art Director at a video game company. She lives in Pasadena with her boyfriend and three dogs.

Capitalizing on the Trend

Capitalizing on teen, angst-driven dystopian fiction, 27 year-old Marie Lu obviously had a target market for the novel, Legend. I certainly can’t blame her for exploiting the newest craze, especially since the movie rights already have been purchased from the same people who produced the poorly written Twilight franchise. For this reason, Legend came across my radar, and having a penchant for dystopian fiction, I thought it might be a fun read.

The Republic

Legend is set in a future world amid the ruins of Los Angeles in the Republic of America, a country at war with the colonies, which are east of a no-man’s-land, the vast expanse from the Dakotas to west Texas. The two teenaged protagonists are Day and June. Having both taken the government’s exam called the trial (similar to the SAT), they have ended up in dissimilar situations. Day is the Republic’s most wanted rebel, and June is a top-of-the-line soldier and servant of the Republic.

“[Someone] gets a perfect score—1500 points. No one’s ever gotten this—well, except for some kid a few years ago who the military made a goddy fuss over. Who knows what happens to someone with a score that high? Probably lots of money and power, yeah? You score between a 1450 and a 1499. Pat yourself on the back because you’ll get instant access to six years of high school and then four at the top universities in the Republic: Drake, Stanford, and Brenan…You squeak by with a score between 1000 and 1249. Congress bars you from high school. You join the poor, like my family…You fail. It’s almost always the slum-sector kids who fail. If you’re in this unlucky category, the Republic sends officials to your family’s home. They make your parents sign a contract giving the government full custody over you” (7).

In this caste society, the scores create a complete divide where the brilliant rule and the unintelligent frequent the slums where a mysterious plague kills people.

Photo by Chris Lott

Day is set on finding vials of plague cures for his family so they can survive in the lurid living conditions they’ve been forced into. June lures Day into a trap in order to catch the Republic’s most wanted criminal. Moreover, she wants to catch him for personal reasons—he killed her brother, Metias. Once lured into the trap and caught, she familiarizes herself with Day before turning him in to her superiors. June begins to wonder if Day is as bad as the Republic has depicted.

“Maybe Day didn’t kill Metias, I tell myself. Maybe it was someone else. God—am I making excuses to protect this boy now?” (141)

My Complaints

Then—no surprises here—both characters end up working together, fighting the Republic, and figuring out the dark secrets their country has spawned. And, following the teen dystopian craze set in motion by The Hunger Games, they fall in love and beat the odds. Much like The Hunger Games, there is no real danger in the novel. Both characters are agile, smart, and altogether better specimens than their rivals. Unlike better novels where there is danger for the main characters—A Game of Thrones or The Lord of the Rings are great examples—the characters you root for are always going to survive, in very predictable fashion.

What’s more, in an act of what could be brilliant writing, Marie Lu organizes the book in alternating journal entries from the main protagonists, Day and June. However, Day’s journal entries are filled with annoying colloquialisms and clichés like “cousin”. The intention may have been to make him seem uneducated and edgy, but it was only exasperating in the end. In addition, the voices of Day and June are almost exactly the same, even with the occasional colloquialism in Day’s journal entries. If the entries weren’t printed in different type, one would be hard-pressed to tell the difference.

Overall, I loved the plot of Legend; it interlaced some brilliant ideas. I also enjoyed the notion of the world Marie Lu created. However, with some literary missteps, the novel simply fell short for me. The lack of fear and the annoying language caused ample amounts of frustration. If you want to read a dystopian teen fiction, stick to The Hunger Games, which frankly has the same problems, but they are much less frequent.

Verdict: 2 out of 5


What do you think? Have you found annoyances in teen dystopian fiction? Conversely, did you enjoy Legend? Is there merit to this new trend?
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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Review: Zone One

Zone One: A Novel by Colson Whitehead (New York: Doubleday, 2011. 272 pp)

Colson Whitehead was born in 1969 and raised in Manhattan. He attended Harvard College and afterward he began working as a reviewer for The Village Voice. Out of the gate, Whitehead’s fiction gained acclaim when his first novel, The Intuitionist, won the Quality Paperback Book Club’s New Voices Award. His work has earned him the Young Lions Fiction Award, the Anisfield-Wolf Book Award, the PEN/Oakland Award, and a Whiting Writers Award. Also, Whitehead has received a MacArthur Fellowship and a fellowship at the Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers.

Knives and Reason 

Aristotle, when expanding on his defense of virtue ethics, contends that humans act ethically when they maximize the function for which they were created. Just like a knife acts “virtuously” when it is sharp enough to cut, Aristotle suggests that humans act virtuous when they engage in reasoning. The ability to use the complex human brain for social ends allows humans to act ethically in comparison to other animals.

Supposing Aristotle is correct in his assertions, do we, then, act immorally when we refuse to use our reasoning faculties? Or do we act amorally? What happens when external forces cause humans to act strictly on instinct? While reading Colson Whitehead’s post-apocalyptic zombie novel, Zone One, I couldn't help but consider ethics in dystopia.

What Happens After a Zombie Outbreak?

Zone One's Gary from The Composites 

Set in Manhattan, “Zone One” signifies a section of the city zoned for rehabilitation. The book’s protagonist, Mark Spitz—not the Olympic swimmer, this Mark Spitz earned his nickname fighting zombies—works on a three-person sweeper team with Gary, an ADD and trigger-happy individual, and Kaitlyn, the team leader and rule abider. The sweeper team searches every nook and cranny of building after building searching for zombie stragglers.

Before the book’s narrative began, an army of marines choppered into Manhattan on a mission to retake the city. During this time, wave after wave of zombies perished under heavy machine-gun fire. While Uptown remains infested with the undead, “Zone One” holds a minimal number of stragglers. While most malicious zombies instinctively ran into the teeth of the machine gun fire, a select few “malfunction” serenely remaining in places of supposed importance in their former lives. These stragglers are the zombies that the trio is charged to kill.

If You Look Back, You’re a Pillar of Salt 

Throughout the novel, Mark Spitz pauses to recollect the carnage that has occurred after “Last Night”—the name for the day that the zombie infliction took hold. We learn of the standard zombie narrative through his clouded memory. A disease breaks out; panic ensues; and everyone learns to fight for themselves. Often times, Mark Spitz cannot fathom how he has made it thus far:

“He was a thorough, inveterate B. It was his road. He studied for hours and there it waited for him, circled in red ink, oddly welcoming, silently forgiving. Or he refused to open his books and gorged instead on a prime-time platter of sitcoms: he’d still get a B. It was a little play he performed each week and he hit his marks instinctively, stalking the boards of mediocrity. He was not unintelligent; in fact, his instructors agreed that he was often quite perceptive and canny in his contributions to discussion, a ‘true pleasure to have in the classroom.’ The adjectives in his report cards, drawn from a special teachers’ collection of mild yet approving modifiers, described an individual of broader gifts than implied by the grades delivered at the end of each term. All the parts were there. Extra screws, even. There was just something wrong in the execution” (56). 

A Phoenix Rising from the Ashes 

Years after Last Night, organized reconstruction begins. Somewhat comically, the headquarters of the “American Phoenix” buds in Buffalo.

“He’d never been to Buffalo, and now it was the exalted foundry of the future. The Nile, the Cradle of Reconstruction. All the best and brightest (and, most important, still breathing) had been flown up to Buffalo, where they got the best grub, reveled in 24-7 generators and uncurtailed hot showers on command. In turn, they had to rewind catastrophe. Rumor was they had two of the last Nobel laureates working on things up there—useful ones, none of the Peace Prize or Literature stuff—chowing down on hearty brain-fortifying grub, scavenged fish oil and whatnot. If they could reboot Manhattan, why not the entire country? These were the contours of the new optimism” (35).

Post-Apocalyptic Stress Disorder 

Photo by Andrew C. Mace

However, the characters in this rebuilding state live in a daily stupor. Having learned to survive by instinct, the people—Mark Spitz included—in a certain sense have lost a part of their humanity. Whitehead introduces a term early in the novel called PASD.

“One canny psychotherapist—Dr. Neil Herkimer, who’d made a fortune in the days before the flood with a line of self-help books imparting ‘The Herkimer Solution to Human Unhappiness’—delivered the big buzzword of the moment: PASD, or Post-Apocalyptic Stress Disorder… Everyone suffered from PASD. Herkimer put it at seventy-five percent of the surviving population, with the other twenty-five percent under the sway of preexisting mental conditions that were, of course, exacerbated by the great calamity. In the new reckoning, a hundred percent of the world was mad. Seemed about right” (54).

With the entire world living in PASD, has humanity lost the defining quality of humanness? At one point, Mark Spitz proclaims,

“He missed shame and guilt and a time when something higher than dumb instinct directed his actions” (161).

Would Aristotle conclude that humanity has lost its ability to act virtuously? I would think so. Without the guiding conscience of reason, the basic survival instinct has altered what it means to be human in Zone One. Humanity, as always, reveals itself to be a persevering bunch, but PASD makes reconstruction all the much harder.

Difficult to Remember 

On the whole, Zone One left me entertained. But I felt that it was weak in a few places. Most glaringly, when Whitehead directs the reader into the past dissecting the events around the apocalypse, the narrative becomes confusing. Many seemingly insignificant characters receive detailed passages while the stories of some seemingly significant characters fizzle without resolution. Perhaps Whitehead intended to display the corroded nature of human reasoning in these flashbacks. If you encountered multiple years of hell where each day could realistically be your last, would you remember specifics from the past? Even if this motif was Whitehead’s intention, the confusion of the flashbacks hinders the overarching narrative.

But despite my reservations, I enjoyed this book. If you love the zombie genre, speculative fiction, or a literary master jumping into genre fiction, Zone One is an excellent choice for your to-be-read pile.

Verdict: 4 out of 5

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: The Flame Alphabet

The Flame Alphabet: A Novel by Ben Marcus (New York: Knopf, 2012. 304 pp)

Ben Marcus is the author of The Age of Wire and String and Notable American Women. His stories have appeared in Harper’s, The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Tin House, and Conjunctions. He is the recipient of a Whiting Writers’Award, a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship, and awards from the Creative Capital Foundation and the American Academy of Arts and Letters. He lives in New York, where he is on the faculty at Columbia University.

The Curious Case of Parenthood

They say life transforms once you become a parent. The transition is instant. One day you care about music and video games; the next, you live and die to provide for another. Children force people into lives of selflessness, but to what end? If you were physically unable to live in familial conditions, how would you react? What would happen if sickness forced the nuclear family to fall apart? Ben Marcus’ The Flame Alphabet surrealistically uses an epidemic to view society through the lens of a breaking family.

Toxic Language

The plot of The Flame Alphabet imagines a world in which the language of children becomes toxic. With a writing style where explanatory information is withheld, the reader never learns why language becomes lethal. Instead, Marcus presents the story of one family encountering this peculiar form of chaos. Our protagonist and narrator is Sam, the husband of Claire and father of Esther.

Unsure of what is causing their sickness, Claire and Sam don’t actually diagnose Esther as the root cause of their illness until she gets back from camp. Temporarily alleviated of their strange ailment, it returns tenfold upon their beloved child’s return. Inflicted with diminishing faces, low energy, weak bones, and the typical symptoms of influenza, toxic language kills.

“Most of what sickened us came from our sweet daughter’s mouth. Some of it she said, and some of it she whispered, and some of it she shouted. She scribbled and wrote it and then read it aloud. She found it in books and in the mail and she made it up in her head. It was soaked into the cursive script she perfected at school, letters ballooning with heart-dotted i’s. Vowels defaced into animals drawings. Each piece of the alphabet that she wrote looked like a fat molecule engorged on air, ready to burst. How so very clear” (11).

Esther, as a girl who never carried much affinity to her parents, enjoys the physical pain that her words bring. As the connections between children and toxic language become clear, the imagined nation begins efforts to quarantine the children and search for a vaccine.

Anti-Semitism

In addition to toxic language, Marcus’ alternate-reality includes an anti-Semitic state. As devout Jews, Sam and Claire are forced to practice an aesthetic Jewish mysticism in the woods for fear of discrimination. This state coupled with language offers multiple avenues of alienation for this family. With the anti-Semitic state splitting the Jewish community, Sam and Claire feel desperately alone. The community of faith that so often supports families in a time of crisis is absent.

Therefore, when Sam and Claire finds themselves quickly quarantined from their daughter, they lose each other in the chaos without any hope of reconnection through the typical faith communities.

A Search for a Cure

Without the help of any communicative tools (toxic language morphs from children alone to every kind of communication including the written word), Sam begins testing new forms of communication at a test facility on willing participants.

“At my desk each day I chased the notion that the alphabet as we know it was too complex, soaked in meaning, stimulating the brain to produce a chemical that was obviously fatal. In its parts, in combination, our lettering system triggered a nasty reaction. If the alphabet could be thinned out, shaved down, to trick the brain somehow, perhaps we could still deploy this new set of symbols, or even a single symbol, the kind you hold in your hand and reshape for different meanings, for modest, emergency-only communications” (169).

Is Life Without Communication Worth Living?

Despite the institutional attempts to thwart this epidemic, many succumb to a lack of hope. Without communication, many lose the will to live.

“Those were the mercy tents. Inside people heard some last song, whatever they chose to dial up, and then down they went to those sounds. A strategy of acoustical expiration. Suicide by language. Mercy was right. The tents were clearly a kindness to those who remained. No one was forced in. On the contrary, people fought to get inside first. And when a funeral field had filled, the mercy tents were struck and dragged away. Audio equipment pulled alongside by wagon. A jukebox of words to die to” (179).

The Frailty of Family

Amid this chaotic scenario, Sam seeks to reunite with his family. The thought of Esther keeps him functioning as he seeks a cure for the toxic alphabet.

The Flame Alphabet focuses on the ramifications of an epidemic for family life. The book asks, “What would you do if you could no longer communicate with the ones you love and hold dear?”  The narrative centers on one person’s perspective and the unraveling of a family is heartbreaking.

The Flame Alphabet is a worthy addition to the speculative fiction canon. Heartbreaking and surreal, Ben Marcus leverages toxic language to illustrate the thin thread that fastens the relationships of a family. A quick but rewarding read, I recommend The Flame Alphabet for anyone interested in the dystopian or literary genres.

Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: Blueprints of the Afterlife

Blueprints of the Afterlife: A Novel by Ryan Boudinot (New York: Black Cat, 2012. 430pp).

Ryan Boudinot is the author of the novel Misconception, as well as The Littlest Hitler, the latter which won the book of the year from Publisher’s Weekly. He is on the faculty of Goddard College’s MFA program in Port Townsend, and blogs about film at therumpus.net. A native of Washington state, he currently lives in the city of Seattle.

New York Alki

Setting off in mild trepidation down my newfound odyssey of contemporary literature, I have found some amazing novels. Despite my fear, Blueprints of the Afterlife takes home the proverbial first prize. In this weird, somewhat dystopian, mainly dysfunctional, post-apocalyptic world, Ryan Boudinot carefully weaves a story of my beloved city and hometown, Seattle, which is both brilliant and freakishly weird.

Photo by Carolyn Adin

Woo-jin is our protagonist, and an award winning dishwasher, who suffers from ennui attacks (excessive empathy). He finds a body, not once, but twice, later meeting its owner, Abby Fogg, alive in “superposition” (a place where she can exist in multiple states: both dead and not). Amidst the entirety of the plot there is a man named Dirk Bickle who remains an enigma throughout the novel.

But what interested me throughout wasn’t the plot, which was absolutely mind-bending (in fact mind-bending isn’t strong enough a phrase) and fabulously entertaining overall. Rather, it was the setting. Set in Seattle, society is building New York City on the shores of Bainbridge Island, an island located close to Seattle.

“In the notes we found several references to the ‘New York Alki’ project. I’d taken Washington state history and knew what this meant. When the first white settlers came to the region in the nineteenth century, they debated what to call their settlement. They had big aspirations for their little frontier outpost but were really bummed out by all the mud and rain. To cheer themselves up they considered naming the place ‘New York Alki.’ Alki was a Chinook word for ‘by and by.’ Meaning, ‘someday.’ ‘New York Alki’ meant that someday this place would be as big and vibrant as New York City. But cooler heads prevailed and decided that naming their city after New York, itself named after old York, was retarded. So they named the city after Chief Sealth and called it a day” (68).

A Consistent Backdrop 

Photo by Midwinter

The ill-founded attempt to name Seattle New York influences Boudinot’s writing, and the backdrop of the entire novel. In the future, this past idea becomes future reality, and the consistent setting of the entire story is this New New York emerging where all the characters meander about their crazed, strange, unconventional lives. The other backdrop is a futuristic Seattle, one that I think can only truly be appreciated if you live here.

“After the great fire of 1889, when Seattle laid new streets atop the ruins of Pioneer Square, the ground levels of hotels, brothers, and dry-goods merchants became the underground. Post-FUS [Fucked Up Shit], a third layer arose, preserving Pioneer Square under a dome. In this district it was always night, lit with yellowish streetlights, real trees supplanted by facsimile trees of concrete and latex” (175).

Living next-door to Pioneer Square (I can literally see Seattle from my window), it’s truly mesmerizing to think about the future of the city as I look at it.

Post FUS 

Photo by Trey Ratcliff

Now in the post-FUS era the earth, and the Pacific Northwest in general, has become a strange place. I should state that this isn’t so much a dystopian novel, it’s a post-dystopian novel. The dystopia has already occurred (the FUS), and now it’s plainly dysfunctional. Part of the era of FUS included a glacier taking over most of Canada (ha!), and parts of America as well.

“Several theories emerged to explain the origin and sheer persistence of the glacier. Many suggested the mass of ice possessed an intelligence. It was easy to personify, as it appeared to be deliberately targeting concentrations of human civilization. As it approached Saskatoon, Canadians stood on top of buildings and bridges with bullhorns, loudly and profusely apologizing for warming the planet. But the glacier would not be placated...while [the glacier named] Malaspina laid waste to the Great White North, Americans paid little attention” (171).

Photo by Nate 2B

This quotation exemplifies the kind of strange “Palahniukian” writing that takes place in the novel. Its strange gore mixes with creepy and odd science fiction. But, surrounded by the odd science fiction comes a sort of unusual, Malthusian catastrophe story, where humans are forced to reconcile with how they’ve treated the planet by raping the earth’s resources. Boudinot places effective social commentary and ecological awareness amid this strange science fiction novel.

“It was obvious and apparent: stop using oil, stop making plastic, control the growth of the population to a logical level so we could exist within the parameters of our ecology. If we didn’t do these things, most of us would die. But we were willing to die because a more powerful part of our minds, the old mammalian limbic system, was busy pushing those bars. The more recent, less developed part of our brains, the neocortex, was waving its arms and screaming for us to stop our destructive behavior. In this war between the limbic system and the neocortex, the limbic system won, hence the FUS” (150).

The beauty of this book is the way Boudinot allows the plot to unfold. He uses the common setting of an emerging, post-apocalyptic Seattle as well as the backstory of the FUS era to create a plot that simply rocks hard. He uses crass language (like FUS) in a way that really effectively tells the story of this new dysfunctional world, and uses characters with weird unimaginable things going on to tell a story of epic proportions. Simply stated, I recommend Blueprints of the Afterlife. Even if you don’t enjoy dystopian novels, this one will surely engage, as it focuses more on human dysfunction as a whole. If you enjoy science or historical fiction, this novel would also be an excellent choice. Just give it a try—you’ll be entertained if nothing else.

Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Album Review: Mylo Xyloto

Mylo Xyloto by Coldplay (Parlophone, 2011. 44 minutes)

Coldplay are a British alternative rock band led by vocalist Chris Martin. Recently produced by Brian Eno, Coldplay has enjoyed a high level of acclaim and success. The band has won numerous awards throughout their career, including seven Grammy Award wins from twenty Grammy Award nominations. Coldplay has sold over 50 million records worldwide.

What is in a Name?

“Mylo Xyloto.” Upon hearing these words, the first thing that came to mind was this exact thought: what? Martin claims that it means “xylo toes”, as in musical toes from a xylophone. But, album title aside, Mylo Xyloto is wonderful. Despite the aid of Brian Eno, it took me a while to get into the record. While reviewing the album as a whole is rather hard to do, I’m going to attempt to make a few comments about a couple of tracks.

Princess Rihanna 

The album, according to lead singer Chris Martin, is a concept album, following a love story in an oppressive 1984-esque dystopia. I don’t really see it, but I think the album is absolutely fantastic nonetheless. It’s apparent that Coldplay is pushing themselves to grow. I think that every band that desires to change their sound somewhat is a band worth following, and Coldplay has assuredly succeeded in this pursuit, notably on their dark, pop hit “Princess of China”.

Coldplay changes their sound dramatically in this track, erring on the side of electronic pop. To further this genre change, they even include Rihanna, I think to their detriment. This song would have been just fine without her mucking about all diva-like. But hey, her inclusion helps gain access to the top 40!

Hello Charlie Brown! 

My favorite track is, without a doubt, “Charlie Brown”. It possesses an absolutely ingenious melodic line to start the track. The song is also rhythmically complex, intricate, and thoughtful. A toe-tapping wonder, I doubt “Charlie Brown” will ever get old. Frankly, I don’t think words can do it justice so have a listen.

Paradise 

Lastly, “Paradise” is definitely worth, at the very least, watching the music video of an elephant (Chris Martin) trying to find his pack. The chorus is grand, and there of faint echoes of U2 throughout—a comparison from which Coldplay has never shied away.

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Coldplay’s previous albums were based on quick, catchy tunes that really stuck with you readily, and “Paradise” is the only track on this album that still fits that stereotype. Their previous albums were a little more accessible, and toward the end of a listen, I would say repetitive as well. Though it may be easier to like something on the first listen, it may not always be the best, as is proven in Mylo Xyloto. Their evolved sound is worth diving into and taking the time to get to know, as the record makes the last few albums seem quaint and simple. Additionally, the bigness, as well as the heart behind the album, creates a worthwhile listen.

Verdict: 4 out of 5

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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Review: Ship Breaker

Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi (New York: Little, Brown, and Company, 2010. 326 pp)

Born in 1972, Paolo Bacigalupi is a science fiction and fantasy writer. He has won the Hugo, Nebula, Compton Crook, Theodore Sturgeon, and Michael L. Printz awards, and has been nominated for the National Book Award. His most famous work, The Windup Girl was named one of the top ten books of 2009 by Time Magazine.

Dystopia 

Dystopian novels always reveal something about the human condition, and that’s why I tend to gravitate toward them. I read not for a love of seeing what the world would be if it fell into disarray, but to catch slight glimpses of the human condition put against the backdrop of extreme chaos and difficulty. Ship Breaker exposes, amidst a darkened world, one of the finer aspects of the human character—loyalty. But, before I explore the idea of loyalty, I feel like it’s important to first tell of how the world of Ship Breaker occurred.

How the World Collapsed 

In a sentence, climate change has caused the world to fall into ruin.

Describing what happened, Tool, a half dog, half man reminisces with the protagonist of the novel, Nailer, on how this dystopia came about.

“‘No one expected Category Six hurricanes. They didn’t have city killers then. The climate changed. The weather shifted. They did not anticipate well.’ Nailer wondered at that idea. That no one could have understood that they would be the target of monthly hurricanes pinballing up the Mississippi Alley, gunning for anything that didn’t have the sense to batten down, float, or go underground” (204).

Photo by NASA

With decades of climate change, city killers—category six hurricanes—ravage the world. The hurricanes move the coastline inland as much as a mile, and leave derelict ships behind. More important to the plot, these storms also cause severe class splits between the “swanks”, or extremely rich, and those who aren’t. Nailer, living in poverty, benefits from city killers because they wreck ships in the bay. Also a member of “light crew”, or teenage laborers, he breaks down ships for their precious materials such as copper, hoping to bring home enough to make quota, feed himself, and live to see another day.

In a twist of fate, Nailer is forced to pair up with a swank named Nita, whom he finds a difficult person to trust at first, due to her elite status.

Loyalty Can Be Rare 

Nailer found Nita nearly dead aboard a derelict ship, while trying to plunder her exquisitely lavish clipper ship of any valuables. Finding out that she was rich led him to take her for ransom. But, his conscience, evidently rare in this world, led him to return her to her family because it was the right thing to do, not because her wealth could give him a better life. Nailer ends up trusting Nita, even with his life, and he becomes extremely loyal to her.

Remarkably, in this disheveled and hectic world, loyalty is hard to come by. Nailer, sadly enough, cannot even trust his own father.

“Nailer laughed. ‘My dad doesn’t give anyone a chance for second thoughts. He cuts you first. He talks about family sticking together, but what he really means is that I give him money so he can [drink] and make sure he’s okay on his binges, and he hits me when he wants.’ Nailer made a face. ‘[Nita] is more of a family than he is’” (251).

This quote reveals the way Nailer’s world is. He cannot trust his own father; much less those around him that he knows even less. But, Nailer finds, through some trial and error, that character is what speaks to the trustworthiness of a person, not position or relationship.

A Bigger Message and Some Hype 

Ultimately, this book was written for young adults, and as a result it was a quick read; I finished the three hundred pages in a single day. But, it was extremely entertaining. I enjoyed the bigger message of ecological awareness, and especially the theme of loyalty that ran through the entirety of the novel. Thus, I recommend this book to anyone that enjoys a fast-paced plot with a dystopian theme.

Because of this book, I’m looking forward to Bacigalupi’s next novel, The Drowned Cities—a companion to Ship Breaker, where Tool (the previously mentioned man-beast) teams up with two natives of the war-torn and flooded world. I think Bacigalupi is an author to watch, as all the awards he has gathered, in my mind, are well earned.

Verdict: 4 out of 5
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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Book Review: The Hunger Games

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins (New York: Scholastic Inc., 2008. 384 pp)

Suzanne Collins began her writing career in children’s television. While working for Nickelodeon, Collins wrote for many shows, chief among them Clarissa Explains it All and The Mystery Files of Shelby Woo. Eventually, Collins moved to children’s literature writing a five-part series, The Underland Chronicles. Her Hunger Games trilogy, however, has received high acclaim, and the first book has been adapted into a major motion picture. Collins lives in Connecticut with her family.

A Trilogy

Trilogy is not only a word that piques the interest of an avid subset of moviegoers, but is also a word that equals a goldmine for movie executives. No matter the genre or story the movie business leaves every big budget narrative open ended to ensure unending story-lines and movies.

From a business perspective, I completely understand the strategy. Who wouldn’t want a continuous influx of cash? From an artistic perspective, however, trilogies leave much to be desired.

The Hunger and the Game

The Hunger Games is the latest “it” story for young adults. Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games follows the lives of protagonists Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mallark in the dystopian ruins of North America – now called “Panem”.

Set in a period after a failed rebellion, Panem is ruthlessly ruled by The Capitol – a centralized city guarded by the Rocky Mountains. The Capitol reigns over twelve districts pillaging the resources of these communities leaving them barely above subsistence. In fact, the lack of resources leaves many citizens wishing for a quick and painless death instead of starvation. At one point, Katniss states,

“Anyway, Gale and I agree that if we have to choose between dying of hunger and a bullet in the head, the bullet would be much quicker” (17).

As a means of controlling the population and instilling fear in the districts, The Capitol holds “The Hunger Games” every year. By law, The Capitol holds a raffle selecting one male and one female under the age of eighteen as “tributes” to compete in these lethal games. The sole survivor’s region wins one year’s worth of resources.

Describing the influence of The Capitol on her district, Katniss complains,

“Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch – this is The Capitol’s way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy. How little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion. Whatever words they use, the real message is clear. ‘Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there’s nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen’” (18-19).

As chance has it, The Capitol selects Katniss and Peeta from District 12 (the region inhabited by our protagonists). Swept onto a train, the duo travels to The Capitol to be made over, advertised, and trained to kill. Despite the perpetual underdog status of District 12, Katniss’ hunting ability and Peeta’s brute strength provides a higher amount of hope for their families and friends back home.

No matter the ethical stance on violence, each tribute must fight when they enter the arena. Gruesomely, every second of The Hunger Games is televised with mandatory watching for each district as punishment for the rebellion. Of course, some will find such games entertaining much like the Roman gladiatorial games but most consider watching the deaths of their family and friends to be horrifying. Understanding this voyeurism, the tributes play to the crowds in order to gain favor.

At one point Katniss responds with the viewers in mind,

“The thought makes me smile. I drop my hands and hold my face up to the moonlight so the cameras can be sure to catch it” (248).

  When a Good Plot Suffers from Profit

Despite this extremely compelling plot, I found The Hunger Games lacking. With prose and marketing pointing toward a trilogy, the novel loses its edginess. In a fight-to-the-death battle arena, what fear does the reader have for Katniss, and Peeta to a lesser extent, when he or she knows that two more installments are on their way? Yes, given the rules of the games, a district member will eventually need to kill the other district member.  But what does it matter provided that the district gains resources?

In this simple principle lies my greatest annoyance with The Hunger Games. I wanted to feel the tenseness of the arena as Katniss and Peeta fight for survival, but I didn’t because I knew that death meant no more story, and no more story means no trilogy.

I know the upcoming feature film of The Hunger Games will make everyone involved incredibly rich. Sadly, the pursuit of external wealth inhibits the effectiveness of the story. For this reason, I find it difficult to recommend The Hunger Games.

Verdict: 2 out of 5

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: The Year of the Flood

The Year of the Flood: A Novel by Margaret Atwood (New York: Doubleday, 2009. 448 pp)

Born in Ottawa in the autumn of 1939, Margaret Atwood grew up in Ontario, Quebec, and Toronto. She attained her B.A. from Victoria College, University of Toronto and her M.A. from Radcliffe College. Atwood has written more than 50 works of poetry, children’s fiction, fiction, and non-fiction. While she is most known for her many novels, her book, Blind Assassin, received highest acclaim winning the prestigious Booker Prize in 2000. Currently, she lives with Graeme Gibson in Toronto.

Dystopia

Everyone knows Orwell’s 1984. The classic dystopian novel depicts the frightening consequences of an authoritarian state. Without removing much of its well-deserved praise, I wonder if 1984 remains a masterpiece not for its literary qualities but for its political commentary. Much like Animal Farm functioning as a satire against Communism, Orwell’s clear distaste of authoritarian government colors 1984. Moreover, the novel’s release during the beginning of the Cold War gave readers – whether valid or not – a tangible source illustrating the potential horrors of Communism.

Without a clear enemy, the dystopian novel becomes a difficult sell. If humanity does not perceive a threat, a story acting as a “what if” warning fails to convince. With Margaret Atwood’s Maddaddam Trilogy, the enemy of humanity is not nation-states but trans-national corporations.

The Real Fear about Trans-National Corporations

Although admittedly, most don’t consider business a threat to civilization, Atwood paints a realistic portrait in Oryx & Crake and The Year of the Flood regarding what could happen. Simply put, if corporations seek profit above all else, what keeps them from inhibiting life in order to reap profit. For example, what keeps pharmaceuticals from developing diseases alongside antidotes? If people get sick, the company profits. Given the philosophical incentives taught in business school, such a result is certainly possible.

Fringe Religions

While book one of the trilogy, Oryx Crake, focuses on the complexities behind business starting the apocalypse, The Year of the Flood tells the same story from the perspective of an anti-corporation religious group.

In this work, each chapter begins with a sermon from Adam One, founder of God’s Gardeners, a religious group that blends evolutionary theory with creation care theology. At the end of each sermon, Adam One proclaims, “Let us sing,” and Atwood actually penned hymns that populate the liturgy of God’s Gardeners.

As a highlight of Adam One’s sermons, Atwood writes,

“The Human Words of God speak of the Creation in terms that could be understood by men of old. There is no talk of galaxies or genes, for such terms would have confused them greatly! But must we therefore take as scientific fact the story that the world was created in six days, thus making a nonsense of observable data? God cannot be held to the narrowness of literal and materialistic interpretations, nor measured by Human measurements, for His days are eons, and a thousand ages of our time are like an evening to Him” (11).

Moreover, the theology of the God’s Gardeners is apocalyptic. As with many sects that span human history, the community forms around an expectation of the end of days. Atwood states,

“According to Adam One, the Fall of Man was multidimensional. The ancestral primates fell out of the trees; then they fell from vegetarianism into meat-eating. Then they fell from instinct into reason, and thus into technology; from simple signals into complex grammar, and thus into humanity; from firelessness into fire, and thence into weaponry; and from seasonal mating into an incessant sexual twitching. Then they fell from a joyous life in the moment into the anxious contemplation of the vanished past and the distant future” (188).

Surviving the Waterless Flood

Aside from this religious institution, The Year of the Flood tells the story of two women associated with this fringe community. On one side, Toby found refuge in God’s Gardeners after her family deteriorated mostly due to nefarious corporate practices and her former job left her defenseless to an abusive boss. On the other side, Ren escaped the corporate compounds with her mother finding acceptance amongst the religious zealots.

With similar starting points, The Year of the Flood charts the different paths Toby and Ren take before the apocalyptic disease blots out most of humanity. Through serendipitous means, both women survive the “flood” as the Gardeners call it and unite to face the new, daunting world.

A Detailed Myth

 The Year of the Flood adds to the dark realism of the Maddaddam Trilogy. Just like Oryx and Crake outlines the plausible scenario of trans-national corporations ruining the world for profit. The Year of the Flood depicts a complex religion and liturgy surrounding the reality of this world. As with any occurrence, counter-movements inevitably spring up. Atwood’s fictitious faction, God’s Gardeners, provides an extensive theology that is plausible not only in her invented world but also in our world as it currently exists.

Dealing with Death

Of course, this trilogy suffers from a lack of real world analogy. Yes, corporations carry a lot of power. But, we do not consider them a threat. Should we? Perhaps. But for me, the big question with dystopian models is always how humanity deals with large-scale death. Atwood pens,

“Why are we designed to see the world as supremely beautiful just as we’re about to be snuffed? Do rabbits feel the same as the fox teeth bite down on their necks? Is it mercy” (415)?

Thus, the dystopian novel portrays beauty through its relationship with death. We all wonder about death; we all will experience it. Art finds it through dystopia and thus we read. The Year of the Flood is well-written, fast-paced, and frightening. Start with Oryx and Crake, and then read The Year of the Flood.

Book Review: Fahrenheit 451

Fahrenheit 451: The Temperature at Which Book Paper Catches Fire and Burns… by Ray Bradbury (New York: Del Rey Books, 1953. 208 pp)

With over five hundred published works to his name, Ray Bradbury is one of the heavyweights in American literature during the 20^th century. Born in Illinois, Bradbury’s family moved to California when he was thirteen. He graduated from Los Angeles High School and did not enter college. Drawn to writing from an early age, Bradbury attended the Los Angeles Science Fiction Society meeting many of the influential writers in the region. Bradbury began writing professionally by publishing stories in magazines. As his stories encountered praise, Bradbury began writing longer works. As the say, the rest is history. Bradbury’s best-known books are The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Fahrenheit 451, and Something Wicked This Way Comes. For his contribution to literature worldwide, Bradbury received the National Book Foundation’s 2000 Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters and the National Medal of Arts in 2004.

The Hedonist’s Paradox

Do you remember the last time you were happy? What caused it? Did a bonus alter your disposition? Did it occur during a sporting event? Were other people involved? When you got there, could you trace the steps that lead you to delight?

Speaking personally, the times I recognize as “happy” are untraceable, as if, in some serendipitous turn, joy occurs by accident. Likewise, the times that I have pursued happiness, it fleetingly disappears like a tuft of smoke.

This phenomenon – philosophically, known as the hedonist’s paradox – states that those pursuing happiness as an end never find it; yet, those pursuing other ends, inevitably find happiness.

In Flames

At its core, Fahrenheit 451 riffs around the value of happiness in society. Set in an unspecified future date, the book depicts the existential breakdown of fireman, Guy Montag.

In this era, firemen no longer extinguish fires; they set them. Operating under the guidelines of a distant authority, the sole purpose of the firemen is to exterminate books. Artfully detailing the job description, Bradbury writes,

“It was a pleasure to burn.
It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history” (3).

What Happens When You Throw Powdered Milk in the Bonfire?

The firemen spend little time considering the question, “Why?” For them, the job provides a level of prestige and carnal joy. What boy hasn’t spent a summer evening in front of the fire observing the many ways in which objects become consumed by the flames? Touching on these desires, Bradbury asserts,

“’What is there about fire that’s so lovely? No matter what age we are, what draws us to it?’ Beatty blew out the flame and lit it again. ‘It’s perpetual motion; the thing man wanted to invent but never did. Or almost perpetual motion. If you let it go on, it’d burn our lifetimes out. What is fire? It’s a mystery. Scientists give us gobbledegook about friction and molecules. But they don’t really know. Its real beauty is that it destroys responsibility and consequences. A problem gets too burdensome, then into the furnace with it’” (115).

Disagreement = Despair?

Montag, however, receives a large jolt when other characters asking him why he does what he does. His job is to burn books. But, why is it books? What makes a book worthy of burning?

While discussing these questions with his boss, Captain Beatty, Montag hears the party-line answer:

“’You know the law,’ said Beatty. ‘Where’s your common sense? None of those books agree with each other. You’ve been locked up here for years with a regular damned Tower of Babel. Snap out of it! The people in those books never lived. Come on now’” (38)!

Stated differently, books create unhappiness. With disagreement, society encounters despair through quarrel. Thus, in hope of asserting happiness in civilization, leadership removes choice; it deletes the “why.”

Why is Why Important?

Guy wants the “why.” He thinks, perhaps, that books provide the “why.” In this assumption, the rest of Fahrenheit 451 unfolds. Meeting a retired and underground professor, Montag hopes to save books. Yet, Faber – the professor – disagrees,

“It’s not books you need, it’s some of the things that once were in books. The same things could be in the ‘parlor families’ today. The same infinite detail and awareness could be projected through the radios and televisors, but are not. No, no, it’s not books at all you’re looking for! Take it where you can find it, in old phonograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself. Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us” (82-83).

A Victim of its Own Hype

Photo by Sarah Wynne

Despite its cult status, Fahrenheit 451 left me unsatisfied. While its novella length and easy prose allowed for a quick read, its content felt shallow. Although burning books supplies a shocking sub-thread to the narrative, it felt unbelievable. Of course book burnings have occurred throughout history, but forcibly burning books seems less believable than having books fade into obscurity as people focus on television instead of the printed word.

Furthermore, the characters never develop. As Guy meets people and interacts with them, his character functions only to keep the narrative flowing. Of course, he transforms as the story proceeds, but I never felt a connection with him.

In short, Fahrenheit 451 illustrates the hedonist’s paradox. Its culture pursues happiness and, in its self-medicated state, its citizens never comprehend that their happiness is false.

Montag asks the question, “why?” At its core, Fahrenheit 451 exists to remind us the importance of “why.” Remember to ask this question constantly. We all too easily forget “why” and just “do.” If we don’t know why, we may find ourselves acting in horrible ways.

I assume everyone has read Fahrenheit 451. For me, reading this book fulfills my desires to complete the canon of classic 20^th century American literature. Honestly, I think the hype of this book gracing the lists of great American literature contributed to my disappointment in the book. Nevertheless, I understand its value and recommend Fahrenheit 451.

Book Review: Oryx and Crake

Oryx and Crake: A Novel by Margaret Atwood (New York: Anchor Books, 2003. 376 pp)

Born in Ottawa in the autumn of 1939, Margaret Atwood grew up in Ontario, Quebec, and Toronto. She attained her B.A. from Victoria College, University of Toronto and her M.A. from Radcliffe College. Atwood has written more than 50 works of poetry, children’s fiction, fiction, and non-fiction. While she is most known for her many novels, her book, Blind Assassin, received highest acclaim winning the prestigious Booker Prize in 2000. Currently, she lives with Graeme Gibson in Toronto.

Patenting Nature

Last year, my wife and I watched Food, Inc. on Netflix. While much of the movie shocked us, nothing was more appalling than the brazen business practices of Monsanto. Both by genetically modifying the soybean and patenting the new strain, the company, in reality, held a monopoly on soybeans.

As it stands, if a farmer desires to grow soybeans, he or she must work through Monsanto. To make matters worse, Monsanto decrees that farmers are not allowed to save seeds after harvest for next year. Instead, farmers must buy another set of seeds from Monsanto.

Despite the many unreasonable practices seeping out of this corporation, what really bothered me about Monsanto was its ownership over nature. By modifying a seed commonly found in nature, Monsanto staked a claim on that portion of nature for as long as it exists. The very idea that a corporation can own an aspect of nature – something we typically consider part of the global commons – is absurd.

If Monsanto Ruled the World

Depicting the corporation taking over the natural world, Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake explores the frightening possibilities of a dystopic world transformed from natural to synthetic.

Our protagonist, Snowman – known as Jimmy before an apocalyptic event removed humanity from earth – looks after the genetic creations of his best friend, Crake. Inhabiting a barren wasteland with both a midday sun too scorching for human skin to withstand and a collection of genetically modified creatures seeking the feast of human flesh (the wolvog, or part wolf part dog, is particularly frightening), Snowman hovers on the edge of insanity.

Comparing this wasteland to civilization at its peak, Atwood pens,

“Strange to think of the endless labour, the digging, the hammering, the carving, the lifting, the drilling, day by day, year by year, century by century; and now the endless crumbling that must be going on everywhere. Sandcastles in the wind” (45).

The Struggle to Survive

Convinced that he is the last surviving human and faced with dwindling supplies, Snowman must decide between guarding the children he swore to protect and enduring another expedition for supplies.

During the narrative, Atwood brilliantly interposes scenes from before Armageddon. Tracing the story through Jimmy, Crake, and the interest of both their affection, Oryx, Atwood links the current maladies with a society governed by corporations who seek profit above human good.

In this society, the virtues and altruistic behavior of civilization has been replaced with the carnal desires of base human beings. Atwood writes,

“When did the body first set out on its own adventures? Snowman thinks; after having ditched its old travelling companions, the mind and the soul, for whom it had once been considered a mere corrupt vessel or else a puppet acting out their dramas for them, or else bad company, leading the other two astray. It must have got tired of the soul’s constant nagging and whining and the anxiety-driven intellectual web-spinning of the mind, distracting it whenever it was getting its teeth into something juicy or its fingers into something good. It had dumped the other two back there somewhere, leaving them stranded in some damp sanctuary or stuffy lecture hall while it made a beeline for the topless bars, and it had dumped culture along with them: music and painting and poetry and plays. Sublimation, all of it; nothing but sublimation, according to the body. Why not cut to the chase?
But the body had its own cultural forms. It had its own art. Executions were its tragedies, pornography was its romance” (85).

The Children of Crake

As the book unfolds, the reader learns more and more about the mysterious children of Crake, the creation of Snowman’s best friend. Without releasing too much detail, these creations act like humans but aren’t exactly part of the classic category, homo sapien. Amongst other oddities, the children of Crake lack much of the understanding gained over a lifetime in culture. This point is exemplified when Atwood writes,

“’What is toast?’ says Snowman to himself, once [the Children of Crake] run off. Toast is when you take a piece of bread – What is bread? Bread is when you take some flour – What is flour? We’ll skip that part, it’s too complicated. Bread is something you can eat, made from a ground-up plant and shaped like a stone. You cook it… Please, why do you cook it? Why don’t you just eat the plant? Never mind that part – Pay attention. You cook it, and then you cut it into slices, and you put a slice into a toaster, which is a metal box that heats up with electricity – What is electricity? Don’t worry about that. While the slice is in the toaster, you get the butter – butter is a yellow grease, made from the mammary glands of – skip the butter. So the toaster turns the slice of bread black on both sides with smoke coming out, and then this “toaster” shoots the slice up into the air and falls onto the floor…
‘Forget it,’ says Snowman. ‘Let’s try again.’ Toast was a pointless invention from the Dark Ages. Toast was a ritual item devoured by fetishists in the belief that it would enhance their kinetic and sexual powers. Toast cannot be explained by any rational means.
Toast is me.
I am toast” (98).

As the final line in the quotation suggests, Snowman echoes the general feel of the book as he becomes increasingly pessimistic regarding his living scenario. Atwood asserts,

“Snowman opens his eyes, shuts them, opens them, keeps them open. He’s had a terrible night. He doesn’t know which is worse, a past he can’t regain or a present that will destroy him if he looks at it too clearly. Then there’s the future. Sheer vertigo” (147).

The Human Condition

Ultimately, Oryx and Crake explores what it means to be human. Without a civilization around him, is Snowman a human? Does culture constitute humanity or is it physical existence? Despite their peculiarities, are the Children of Crake more human than Snowman simply because they have culture, albeit an odd one? 

Stated differently, Atwood asks,

“Can a single ant be said to be alive, in any meaningful sense of the word, or does it only have relevance in terms of its anthill?” (371).

 Oryx and Crake is a book of heartbreaking beauty. With love and disaster, Atwood explores the human condition through a world controlled and destroyed by big business and genetically modified organisms. Where Monsanto terrifies me with its patenting of nature, Oryx and Crake applies this concept in its fullest scale. Despite the horror portrayed, this book is masterful. Highly recommended.