Manhood for Amateurs

A few months ago, I stumbled across this new Michael Chabon book at the local book megalopolis and bought it without hesitation, even though I was still in the middle of reading "Maps and Legends" (reviewed here earlier). Surprisingly, although the book was published in October, there isn't much online for it. Rather, the book seems to have arrived without much fanfare or comment. (In fact, if you closely examine Chabon's Wikipedia page, there's still nothing about it.)

The full title of the book is "Manhood for Amateurs: The Pleasures and Regrets of a Husband, Father, and Son." The cover depicts a type of "compass" for manhood, which pretty well

Essentially, the book is a collection of essays (and most of them very short) on the topic of "manhood" (at once a dubious term, after finishing reading). The essays are broken into four "movements," beginning generally with childhood and moving through life - young adulthood, marriage (and divorce), fatherhood, and ending with some thoughts on human mortality (not unlike the Joyce classic "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.")

What is amazing about Michael Chabon's work, as always, is his ability to use the mundane and common to signify something much deeper about the human condition. For example, in one essay he uses a description of a gift his father gave him - some old baseball cards - to launch into a reflection on how his father symbolically passed on to him the All-American-Man game of baseball. In another, a question from one of his little sons about how to draw a girl leads into a larger discussion as to whether or not, as men, we can ever truly understand women.

The weakest phase in the book is in regards to middle-age and beyond, though I attribute this to his lack of experience and perspective on those matters.

Whereas the essays in "Maps and Legends" discussed larger cultural issues - the value of genre fiction - the essays in "Manhood" are much shorter and incredibly personal. This is a new side of Michael Chabon. Until now, his novels have remained largely impersonal. We've been forced to interpret him through his plots and characters - such as Grady Tripp's struggles with writing his book in "Wonder Boys" as a reflection of Chabon's own attempts to finish his second novel "Fountain City." (And, as a would-be critic, this reasoning is weak at best and irresponsible at worst.) Still, even here - when Chabon seems to be revealing everything to us - he still hides behind a thin mist of symbolism and metaphor - as though he can't exactly tell us some things directly.

Chabon's writing is still masterful and entertaining. I'm happy to pass this book on to my dad, as well as to re-read it in the years and years to come.

The Gunslinger

Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve always gone to Steven to get my haircut. And as long as I can remember talking to Steven about books, I’ve known that Steven is a Stephen King fanatic. As I started to grow more mature in my reading, Steven’s influence flexed its grip, and I began reading Stephen King as well. Although I’ve read several of King’s novels – including the massive undertaking “The Stand” – I’ve never attempted his series of novels “The Dark Tower.” This all changed when I got a haircut two weeks ago. Steven said he had something for me, and then brought out a bag from Pei Wei filled with the first six books of “The Dark Tower” sequence. Although the bag weighs at least twenty pounds, without representing the entire text of the series, I dove right in, beginning (obviously) with the first book of the series (which is, coincidentally, by far the shortest).

“The Dark Tower: The Gunslinger” begins the epic quest of Roland, the last Gunslinger. As we meet him, he his chasing “the man in black” across a desert in some sort of western-fantasy world. Apparently, Roland has been chasing him for a long, long time and has very recently been catching up. In the first part of the novel, Roland walks into a trap the man in black has set up in a know-nothing town, and the only way out is to, quite literally, kill every person in the small city (including his own lover). Further on, at an abandoned way station in the desert the Gunslinger encounters a boy – Jake – who apparently died in our world (at the hands of the man in black) only to re-awaken in Roland’s world. The Gunslinger allows Jake to join his quest, and the two miraculously cross a seemingly endless desert to arrive at the mountains – with the man in black now in sight. The pair encounters a malicious oracle who suggests that Roland will have to kill the boy if he wants to catch his quarry. As Roland and Jake pursue the man in black through the caverns of the mountain, they are attacked by Slow Mutants (human like creatures with distorted features who glow in the dark) and narrowly escape. With the cavern’s exit within reach, the man in black blocks their egress, and Jake clings desperately to the side of a rail-bridge. Roland has to choose between the boy and the man in black and, painfully, chooses the main in black. The novel ends with the man in black revealing that their dying world is just a single grain on a piece of grass in an even larger universe – all part of an infinitely large and small chain of worlds. Roland is set off on his quest to find the Dark Tower (a nexus between the many worlds) and to face off against The Beast who guards it.

Of course, that’s all merely the main story. Through the course of a few flashbacks and “firelight stories,” we learn a lot about Roland’s past (though many mysteries are also raised in the aftermath). For example, we learn that he grew up in highly regimented and caste-regulated society. This court resembles, loosely, Arthurian legends, although the noble knights are replaced with gunslinging cowboys. Yet, sometime between Roland’s childhood and the “present” of the novel, there has been a devastating war and that world is “dying,” leaving Roland as the last true Gunslinger. There are lots of references to Roland’s father being cuckolded, a vicious trickster named Marten, and a beautiful woman named Susan – but these references remain murky.

The world that King establishes in the first of “The Dark Tower” books can be best imagined as a hybrid between Clint Eastwood’s early westerns (lots of isolated towns, desolation, dirt, and sweat) and King Arthur’s court (class structures, knights and maidens). This comparison is practically invited by the reference to a wizard from our world named “Maerlyn” (think: Merlin). There are also elements of traditional quest stories and poems – notably “The Odyssey” of course. Also, apparently the name Roland is a reference to a Robert Browning poem (but, at this point, I’m too lazy to care about the allusion beyond what is mentioned in the afterword to the book).

There is a strange connection between our world and Roland’s world. The boy Jake somehow leapt between the two worlds. A gas pipe at the way station in the middle of the desert seems to connect the two worlds. There’s even a strange subway-like terminal that Roland and Jake walk through in the middle of the caverns of the western mountains – although the remains of those working at the station have apparently been dead for a very, very long time.

Our protagonist – Roland, the last Gunslinger – provides an interesting point of discussion. He is not necessarily sympathetic – heartlessly choosing his own ambition over saving the boy Jake. Yet, at the same time, we find it hard to judge him. Although we quest with him for 216 pages (at least, in the edition I read), we hardly get to know him. Sure, we know that he was the youngest boy ever to earn the title “Gunslinger” and that something bad went down between Marten (the man in black’s master) and Roland’s father – but, to be honest, that’s all we really find out. We never even quite find out why he’s chasing the man in black – and that goal alone makes up the main conflict of the novel.

Considering that there are at least six more books in this series (more, if King keeps adding to the epic), I’m finding it hard to judge here the value of the entire sequence of novels. Ultimately, “The Gunslinger” provides mere exposition for the longer series, while also allowing us a little glimpse into this strange (but fascinating) universe. I just hope that the rest of the series picks up the pace a little bit, because “The Gunslinger” was painfully slow at parts. At the very least, I can see how “The Gunslinger” provides a lot of food-for-thought for a fantasy reader and gives a rich and unique universe for Roland to wander through on his quest for The Dark Tower.

(The next book in the series: “The Dark Tower: The Drawing of the Three”!)

Avatar

Last night my wife and I went to see the new James Cameron movie "Avatar" in 3-D. Actually, it wasn't so much a "movie" as it was a "completely different experience." I have never been quite as amazed and awed coming out of a movie theatre as I was last night.

Now, this is not to say that "Avatar" is the perfect film. Rather, it is unlike anything else I've ever seen (although it obviously takes some elements from previous science fiction and fantasy books and movies). Using 3-D technology, Cameron was able to take the audience to another world.

But, before I start gushing, a little bit about the movie. Apparently, in the future, humans are mining some sort of high-energy ore on a planet called Pandora, which is worth a ton of money back on earth. The only problem is that the planet is already inhabited by a blue humanoid species which considers pretty much every nook and cranny of the planet to be sacred in one way or another. Enter Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a former marine who has taken his brother's place in the "Avatar Program" - which allows humans to take control of an alien body and live through that body. The company in charge of the mining needs to get to a massive ore deposit which, unfortunately, lies directly beneath the natives' largest city (so to speak), and is looking for a diplomatic, but forceful, way of moving the aliens. Tensions rise between the scientific team researching the planet - led by Dr. Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver) - and the business and security teams - led by Parker Selfridge (Giovanni Ribisi) and Colonel Quaritch (Stephen Lang) respectively. Long story short - too late! - the science team, using their avatar bodies, defects and joins the natives in resisting the human expansion. Sully manages to become the leader of the natives (in a manner reminiscent of the rise of Paul / Muad'ib in "Dune"), and - in a fantastically massive battle scene - manage to defeat the invading corporation.

The movie was well written. The plot unfolded nicely with enough twists and turns that it did not become predictable. Many story elements that were developed early on - such as, say, the territoriality of the native animals - played out nicely at the end.

It was hard to ignore the political message of the movie - there is no question left as to where James Cameron stands on issues like Manifest Destiny or, say, the Iraq War. But that aspect of the movie does not dominate the entire story or drag it down. Rather, it adds to the mystique of the plot and gives it a nice allegorical feeling without coming down too preachy.

This blog wouldn't be complete, though, if I didn't comment further on the 3-D experience. Seeing this movie in 3-D gave me a glimpse into the feeling my parents must have had when they first saw color television - something familiar taken to a completely different level. I didn't so much "watch" "Avatar" in 3-D, I "experienced" it. Cameron did a great job of using the 3-D technology to create a sense of realism and depth to the environment without falling into the usual 3-D traps of making something jump out at the audience.

I highly recommend seeing "Avatar" in the theatre. And, if you're already shelling out $11 to see it, I'd highly highly recommend paying the extra couple of dollars to see it in 3-D. (Unless you have a depth-perception problem, because the effects may be lost on you and you could have spent that money on overpriced candy.)

Everyman

I picked up Philip Roth's 2006 novel "Everyman" at the Newport Beach Friends of the Library bookstore a while back for a mere single dollar. After reading this book, I wish I still had my dollar.

A little background: When I was an undergraduate, the name Philip Roth was tossed around a lot as one of the great contemporary American writers. I picked up and read his book "American Pastoral" and was completely underwhelmed. I didn't get it. I didn't see what the big deal was. I flipped through it again, thought about it, and still couldn't figure out why people were so enamored with that book. At that point, I just let it go and postulated that I would try it again later.

So I went into "Everyman" with a lot of trepidation tempered with a lot of hope. Trepidation because my mind still ached with the disappointment of my first attempt. Hope that maybe this book would hook me more than the first and that it would finally all come together for me. Unfortunately, it was about halfway through the book that the hope died.

Briefly, "Everyman" begins with the funeral of the unnamed protagonist, attended by a scant few people who came to pay respects to a man to whom they connected but not necessarily attached (such as his two sons from his first marriage). The book then backtracks and jumps around to various episodes throughout his life which provide insight into his broken relationships with the people at the funeral.

I guess my biggest problem was that I felt no sense of attachment, or pity, or sympathy, or anything for the protagonist. He was a philanderer, a misanthrope, a malcontent, and, ultimately, a cranky, whiny, sick old man. I understand the idea that as the "everyman" he is an imperfect being, acting on his impulses, but I still could not dig out any flake of interest in his life. It's not that I was taking some sort of moral stance against this character (consider my half-decade interest in the semi-perverse Leopold Bloom of "Ulysses"), but I never felt like accepted any control over his life. Many of his internal monologues blame others or ask others to consider his perspective, but he never tries to consider anyone else's feelings.

From a literary analysis perspective, the book was weak. The "begin at the end" structure of the novel is unimpressive. The various chunked episodes are too choppy and disconnected (although, consider life - isn't that how it is?). The protagonist is static and flat, and the minor characters are somehow flatter than flat. Nothing clicked together or jumped out as being of any literary importance. Instead, it seemed more like a formulaic novel written by an aspiring creative writing student than a potential masterpiece by an iconic writer.

I guess I just felt that the book was merely a book, and not some sort of intellectual or moral challenge - and not that I require that of all my books, but I do of books that come wrapped in such mystique and renown. But, if the book merely exists as a forum for fiction, I'd rather spend my time reading some genre works.

Sorry, Philip Roth. Maybe I'll try "Portnoy's Complaint" or "The Human Stain" in a few years. But I'm not sure I'm ready to go out with you again yet. Perhaps we should see other people.

Maps and Legends

The first edition of Michael Chabon’s “Maps and Legends” – put out by the great McSweeney's Publishing in 2008 – has perhaps the most interesting cover I have ever seen. The actual hardcover volume has several colorful and uniquely decorated paper dust jackets, each a little smaller than the one underneath, which are spread so that you are able to see a bit of each at the same time.

This opening invitation to inspect and look at each intricate dust jacket, each as its own cover and as part of the larger cover artwork, is a metaphor that can be extended to the contents of the book. Each essay can be read as an individual piece of writing, or as part of the larger book.

It would be irresponsible for me to describe each individual essay of the book instead of encouraging you to savor them yourself, so instead I’ll stick to discussing the larger themes and highlighting a . (Truth Time: It would be TIME CONSUMING for me to describe each essay, and I’m feeling very, very lazy).

The title essay describes Chabon’s childhood fascination with enterprising through his neighborhood and planned wilderness (he practically had a forest for a backyard), and then creating personalized maps for the area. Although my own childhood took place in a grid-structured suburb which left little to actually be discovered, I was still able to relate to the childhood urge to explore, to find and expand boundaries – both literal and metaphorical.

These ideas of adventure, exploration, and boundaries are the central theme of the book, even when the essays are ostensibly about other subjects.

For example, one piece consists of a book review of Cormac McCarthy’s novel “The Road” (reviewed here earlier) but much of the work attempts to define the “borderland” between genre-fiction and “serious” fiction that McCarthy’s masterpiece inhabits. Another part seems to be an extended review of Phillip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy (which I still haven’t read, and, somehow, lack even a sliver of an urge to read), but really questions the nature of the ever-hazy Young Adult form of literature. There is even an essay about the history of Sherlock Holmes which leads to a discussion of the history of fan fiction and fan fiction’s place in the halls of literature. (There are, of course, parts on the relevance of comic books - one of Chabon's recurring subjects.)

The biggest pitfall of the book is that several of the essays center their argument around very specific subjects (such as Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road”). If you do not have the requisite background knowledge, reading these chapters can be like wandering an unfamiliar city without a map (if you don’t mind me using the map metaphor). This is not to say that these parts are not enjoyable, but just that it can be harder to find the intellectual landmarks which make them interesting. (In the language of teaching - which I am occasionally wont to use - cultural capital makes the book understandable.)

Ultimately, in the spirit of the work, I’m going to encourage you to have an adventure – take a jump, explore the book, and make your own map!