A Call For Contributors I

It has come to my attention that some of our audience is even more casual than I previously believed. This is understandable. I like to think we offer something for everyone, just not every day, and especially not on days when neither of us posts. Also, this green thing isn't working for me, so why should anyone else tolerate it? (Anybody know someone with taste who can design a no-frills web site? I have disliked frills ever since I had to collect 12 of them from Murloc slave traders in WoW.)

We cover a lot of ground here, incrementally. If you're turning in once a week for my long-promised rant about the sad state of pornography, only to find another two-man Battlestar Galactica pile-on (now that would be something to write about: Doc Cottle getting some action), you might be wondering what else you could do with your eight-hour workday. Or perhaps you only care to read what Mr. Bile has to say about the merits of different types of dice. Or maybe you only check in for links to hot chicks with MySpace pages.

Again, understandable. Not everyone is into book reviews, movie criticism, over-analysis of television shows, porn, videogames, eclectic music recommendations, and reads blogs. The number of weird people out there clearly outnumber us mundanes.

So I had an idea. To the best of my knowledge, our readership at the moment is small and manageable. I was thinking of creating e-mail lists divided into various categories: movies, comics, board games, scooters, vacation, fall, etc. Those readers who don't care to browse through all the topics we cover would get a notice when, "Hey, someone finally wrote about football realism!"

Of course, this sort of thing won't be necessary for anyone reading this post, but I wanted to get some feedback on it. My long-term goal for the site is to gain contributors and readership, and I think this might be a good step towards increasing casual traffic. Let me know what you think, or if you have anything to say about the Burning Crusade, because I just don't feel like I'm running a real site without WoW:BC updates.

The Price Of Clean

Some time ago, my ceiling had an aneurysm, letting a rich spray of arterial roofwater into my apartment. Since then, I've been inspired to launch a number of cleaning assaults onto my already questionable carpet, in the hopes of reverting it from bad beige to good beige. My latest ploy to this end involved buying a mediocre steam cleaner, immediately losing the instruction manual, and improvising from there.

At first, the large tufts of pitch black hair that the cleaner kicked up delighted me. I didn't know where the hell they came from, but each one was proof that my house was getting incrementally better.

Then I heard the scratching coming from the attached water tank, and found out that I've got a damn ghost stuck in it. Not one of those mostly domesticated Midwest ghosts, either. I've got one of those Asian Longhairs that came over to America six years ago, before Customs learned to check shipments of imported Asian lumber for infestations. Without any unnatural predators to control them, the damn things are popping up everywhere.

I don't know to do about her, and I certainly don't know what she was doing in my carpet. The apartment's previous tenant has moved to Japan, and asking him over long distance if he happens to know why there's a dead girl in my room seems ill advised. Plus, the guidebooks agree that knowing a Longhair's secret past just pisses it off, anyway. What the guides don't agree on is a way to successfully get rid of a Longhair. I could just drop the water tank off at a landfill, but then I'd be out of a water tank, and constantly afraid that the ghost would go on an Incredible Journey back to my place.

The worst thing about the situation is her age. My apartment does have a contract that assures me that "Any spectral denizens within your apartment are all eighteen years of age or older, and do not represent any living or fictional characters." It would be a nice piece of CYA legalese, if it wasn't so obviously a pack of lies. The girl is...eight, perhaps. I'm willing to go so far as twelve. Either way, it looks bad, and I want her gone before my neighbors find out.

I'm probably going to have to get Narraptor to deal with the damn thing. Longhairs are pretty damn instant that they get the last word in, but after his extra-strength exorcism of this blog, I'm pretty sure he can handle her. But that means I'll have to commit to PAX, and watch people play Dance Dance Revolution for cash and prizes. There are worse fates, but none of them involve complete strangers telling me how great The Minibosses are.

Emilie Autumn

As promised, I will explain the title of my previous post.

I recently discovered a Chicago-based artist who goes by the name Emilie Autumn. And by discovered, I mean she had a cool track on a Dancing Ferret compilation I picked up at Hot Topic. In reality, Courtney Love got to her first.

Projekt seems to be sold out of her CDs, but a few are still available from Isolation Tank for a slightly higher price. She only has one album on iTunes, which contrary to what I told Tom Foolery, is not more fairy than her sample tracks on MySpace. (In this context, "fairy" means "something Neil Gaiman would listen to," and is not a pejorative--unless you hated Where's Neil When We Need Him?, in which case it is.) Having listened to Enchant several times now, I'd liken it more to Poe's last album, but goth. It's eclectic. A few tracks sound like Hungry Lucy with better lyrics. A couple are like Deine Lakaien with a hot chick. One song samples What Child Is This? In 14 tracks, she covers everything from gothaissance to R&B.

She has a very thorough list of her influences on her MySpace page. It seems pretty accurate.

I now have a reason to schedule my next tour date in Chicago. But not before Mr. Bile commits to PAX.

Somebody Called Me A Paranoid Angel

I'll explain the blog title later this weekend. I need to make this short because I'm suffering from Friday night lag. (I blame the Burning Crusade and people who haven't burnt out on porn, but those are topics for another time.)

I am currently in the middle of preparations for my East Coast Book Tour, which begins later today. The DS and iPod have been charged, Ticket to Ride and the special edition of Kill Dr. Lucky have been packed (thanks again to Mr. Bile, who provided me with the Tight Hat I wanted), and assuming no one has opened the dryer again, my jeans should be done by now. Oh, and I finally got around to confirming my visit with my family.

The good news for you is that without work to take up my time, I will be able to post regularly next week. Being away from my personal computer, I won't be downloading any podcasts, so I won't bore you with things no one else listens to. And now that I've given up hope for Battlestar Galactica and Heroes, and I am leaving Lost and The Office to defend themselves, I will offer no TV talk.

Nope, next week is all social interactivity all the time, which means our blog will have pictures of angry people with dice. And that's all I'm going to say before Blogger randomly rearranges my sentences again.

It Stopped Blinking

I suspect it was Mr. Bile who infected my computer with that blinking, "You are unprotected against a rapidly spreading threat" message that kept me off the Internet for two days. It was the only way he could get away with putting the words "fantasy" and "football" within unacceptable proximity to each other. The only pairings of competitive sports and fantasy that I approve of are Blood Bowl and quidditch, and the latter only grudgingly. Maybe I'd allow for an anachronistic version of murderball.

He has my blessing to write about wood of abnormally large measurements if he wants, though.

Much like the time he insisted on watching the supperboll on my TV, I must find a way to exorcise the site. I think I used porn to cleanse the TV, but for the blog I might just slip some spoilers into a post in such a way that he won't realize operation pot-growing giant a is island the until it's too late.

Previously, On The Hundred Yard Wood

At risk of attracting Narraptor's scorn, I'm going to avoid the subject of Battlestar Galactica, and instead talk about my other favorite non-scripted form of entertainment, football.

Last Sunday, we were privileged to see both teams 'o destiny get crushed under the booted heels of their farmboy opposition. Just like in Contemporary Fantasy, it does not pay to put your faith in destiny. You'll always end up with a crystalline sword in your heart, suddenly realizing what that old witches' poem had really meant:

"And one shall be felled at the very moment of his triumph,
For he hast misinterpreted these very words of prophecy."

Your only satisfaction will be in knowing that soon your shade will rise from the grave, and enjoy renewed success against the sons and daughters of your slayers for the first two books of the upcoming sequels. (Unless you're unfortunate enough to stay dead, and receive the cold comfort of being avenged by a sibling or improbably named Greater Threat)

A recap, in case you missed the two part extravaganza:

Colts Versus Patriots:
You'd be forgiven if you thought the networks were showing a rerun by mistake. The Colts made terrible mistakes, the Patriots capitalized on them. Then Payton Manning single handedly slew half of the Patriots, all while screaming "Not like this!" and crying tears of blood. Afterwards, he admitted feeling guilty asking God to make Tom Brady throw an interception. He can only take comfort in knowing that he wasn't the only one abusing his direct pipeline to the almighty.

Meanwhile, cheated of another opportunity to tell America that they had won by eschewing ego, compassion and humanity, the Patriots retreated back to their iron sarcophagi.

Saints Versus Bears:

The prequel companion to the first great work, the Saints Versus Bears was a much less exciting affair. Both armies began their pregame rituals; The Saints anointed themselves with oil and vowed to avenge those who had died before them, and the Bears circled Rex Grossman and chanted "No Whammies!"

For a time, both sides fought each other to a near standstill in a glorious game of strategy and tactics. Sadly, the match came to an unfortunate end after some damn fool revealed to the Saints that they were not wearing magical shoes, but the power had been within them all along. The Saints' game collapsed, and as a result of their loss Bourbon Street will be bulldozed by evil land developers to make condominiums.

Superbowl Next:

The season finale is billed as "The ultimate battle between a top ranked defensive team, against a top ranked offensive team." These sorts of matchups usually mean that you'd better hope that the commercials are a damn sight better than they were last year, because that's going to be the only thing left in doubt after the first hour.

Like Jander, I'll be rooting for the Colts. Unlike him, I'm an hour away from Chicago, so I'll be doing it very quietly.

(Edit: There was a broken link to one of Jander's comments. Now there isn't.)

The Curse of Ronald Moore

Battlestar Galactica starts back up tonight, and I can't help but to be worried.

Season 3.0 started strong, exploring some of the questions that ought to have been asked in season 2.5. Questions like, "Hey, what about those thirteen cylons?" and "Was there a point to the Pegasus?" (The answers to which were, "It's a secret!," and "No.") Season 3.5 promises to pick up by asking the questions that were supposed to be in season 3.0. Expect questions like, "Why exactly does everyone hate Baltar so much?" and "Was there a point to the Cylon baby?"

Hell if I know the answer to the Baltar question. There are a lot of reasons why all of humanity could hate Baltar. Do they know that he's been a Cylon tool all along? Sharon could have told them, after all. But she wouldn't have known about the nuclear device he willfully gave to Suicide Sharon. Or perhaps they're just very angry about him being a bad president. It's hard to tell.

Silence is a new theme to the series. In the season 3.0's finale, Dean Stockwell missed his opportunity to tell Tigh that he slept with his wife. Religious Cylon was quite mute on the subject of finding a site that would lead him to his density. The Sharon meets Sharon scene was limited to the same dialogue that we heard in previous episodes. "Why are you doing this? Also, we have your kid." And the return of Baltar was met with blank stares from the Battlestar Galactica crew.

This could change at any time, of course. BSG is an inconstant beast, and capable of leaping from subpar to terrific at a moment's notice. Still, I'm thinking the best way to watch the show is to pretend the metaplot doesn't exist. In any given episode, the characters are liable to say a lot of interesting things. You might discover that there are eight cylons left in the human fleet, or that a dead Cylon can still hear people speak around them. Minor but seemingly important characters will be introduced, like a civilian aerospace engineer, or some guy called Jammer. But when the episode's over, just set that information aside. Stop trying to guess which plot hooks ones mean something, and which are just going to be forgotten. The writers aren't keeping a big book of all the issues they need to resolve. The storyline's future is uncertain enough that most of the foreshadowing is going to be retconned anyway. When it's done well, you'll be pleasantly surprised. When it isn't, then you'll wonder where the Chief's religious background had been hiding for the last twenty episodes since it had been first mentioned. Both beat wondering every episode if they'll finally talk about whether cylon spines really glow during sex, of if it's only visible to television viewers.

The real question is whether I'm preparing to watch the show in the proper fashion now, or if I'm just lowering my standards.

What About (Name Changed to) Bob?

Let me tell you what I know about (Named Changed to) Bob.

Bob lives in Canada. He likes role-playing games. He enjoys your role-playing game podcast. He has tried listening to other role-playing game podcasts, but his interest always wanes by the 15-minute mark. Your podcast is the only one he listens to. He likes it so much, in fact, that he listened to 30 episodes in one week. (Bob works 12-hour night shifts.)

Bob hasn't role-played in seven or eight years, but has stories about his role-playing days. Once, he played an elf in a Shadowrun campaign. His friend was playing a shaman. They fought some orcs and one of the orcs grabbed the shaman in a bear hug. Bob said, "Don't squeeze the shaman!" (He had been waiting two weeks for the opportunity.) Another time, shortly after the Tome of Magic came out for AD&D 2nd edition, he created a Wild Mage. He was Chaotic Neutral and casting Nahal's Reckless Dweomer as Magic Missle was his default strategy. His party encountered an army of flind(s?), and they decided to take out the flind leader in the hope the rest of the flind(s?) would scatter. Bob cast Nahal's Reckless Dweomer as Magic Missile on the leader and an anvil fell on the leader's head. He cast it again and that time the leader turned to stone. Unfortunately, it turned out the army was actually composed of several tribes, each with their own leader--

[A serious aside. Methinks the DM protest too much. The party took out the Big Bad easily, and the DM's ego left him with no recourse but to say, "No, you see, what you didn't notice before was that the flind(s?) are wearing different-colored armbands. Yeah, there's, like, a green tribe and a red tribe and a purple tribe, and you, though knowledgeable enough to spot a flind leader out of an entire army, didn't notice that there were other leaders, too."]

--so he cast Nahal's Reckless Dweomer as Magic Missile on the next leader. An inter-planar gate opened and a gorgon came out of it. The gorgon began turning everyone into stone. Bob shouted, "Look what that flind mage just did!" in order to place the blame somewhere else, and everyone but the ranger believed him. But Bob's favorite character was (Name Changed to) Dusk Condor. He played Dusk Condor in Heroes Unlimited and Champions. Dusk Condor could fly, see in infrared and ultraviolet spectrums, and more. But to make him interesting, Bob decided that Dusk Condor would be blind. This led to some problems, like when he had to tell the red wire from the blue one.

[I'm sorry, but I feel this point can't be made clear enough. Bob, your game master sucked.]

Bob is also creating his own role-playing game, one which either evokes the style of/takes place in the worlds of/or takes place in a setting similar to those depicted in M. Night Shyamalan's films. Coincidentally, your free indie role-playing game is exactly the same as the game he's been working on. And thanks to you, Bob is thinking about making his own podcast.

Why do I know this about Bob? Because you played four of his rambling voice-messages on one episode of your podcast.

This was a not only a disservice to your listeners, but to Bob. We don't need to hear stories about his characters, and you shouldn't allow him to expose himself on the Internet at time when he's dealing with a personal tragedy. He's probably very vulnerable at the moment, and doesn't need to know that we're glad he's not role-playing anymore, we don't care about his characters, and the chances that we'd listen to his podcast are even less than the likelihood of me listening to yours again.

The Hatter

Can we at least have two official Canned Food and Shotguns hats? I'll sponsor the "My Hat of Magical Realism Knows No Limit" top hat and you can have the "Don't Believe the Hat" fedora. As usual, I suspect your in-joke will have greater mass appeal. That's why I get the top hat.

In addition, we might want to consider a "You try spelling 'labyrinth' at 4 in the morning" bumper sticker, because our tags are all wrong.

Out of curiosity, how would you feel about Pan's Labyrinth if you were told the Faun was all of the other monsters? Scroll down to "I wouldn't have guessed the frog" and let me know what you think. My opinion stands, but with more vulgar language.

Don't Beleive The Hat

Now might be a good time to remind you about our spoiler policy.

Narraptor has developed a relatively foolproof system for judging newly written fairy tales; More Monster = More Movie. By this yardstick, we can clearly prove that Spirited Away is ten times as good as Princess Mononoke, and a hundred times as good as Howl's Moving Castle. And yet, this also means that Pan's Labyrinth should be infinitely worse than the Pan-less Labyrinth. (And that is without taking the standard Muppet Modifier into account.)
In this case, I am going to have to leave science behind me, and cling to my belief that Pan's Labrynth is as good a film as I think it is.

I can understand if you don't have any faith left for DelToro's films, though. I can't remember a thing about Mimic, and I remember too damn much of Blade 2. Hellboy was fun at the time, but immediately afterwards I've only been able to recall the film's many flaws. I was willing to believe that The Devil's Backbone was DelToro's good film, but I've never had enough interest to seek it out.

But somehow, this movie finally delivers on the promises DelToro's been making all these years. It helps that the promise is fairly simple: That he's made a dark and fairly straightforwards fairy tale, placed in a modern setting. By the same token, I reject the slur of Magical Realism that Narraptor's leveled at the film.

The viewpoint in Pan's Labrynth is relentlessly objective. There is no narration to inform you that this is a Ofelia's personal journey. No visual cues that each character sees things in different ways. Some characters shoot at commie rebels, some make roast rabbit, and one person talks to mantis fairies. Each is handled with the same detached air. Then at the end of the film, we are treated to a scene where the drugged up Capitán Vidal sees Ofelia talking to the air, instead of the Faun.

At this point, you get to choose which movie you've been watching all along. One of them is a tale where the military commander just can't see the faun for some reason. Perhaps it was the drugs, or perhaps it's just a magic thing. Not a strong point of the film, I'll agree, but not a dealbreaker.

Instead, you can decide that it could have been all in Ofelia's head. At which point the movie breaks apart. After all, if the movie's willing to lie to the viewer to the point that Ofelia can walk through walls on multiple occasions due to coincidence, what else is it lying about? Perhaps Capitán Vidal only thinks he's a brutal killer, when in reality he breaks down sobbing in a corner, and lets someone else do the work. Perhaps the mysterious French rebel leader never existed either. After all, if Ofelia's obsession with fairies brought them to CGI life, then what validity should I place with a group of friendly communist rebels who are at the beck and call of a communist-loving Mercedes? Is that magically realistic? I'm honestly not sure... without a person flying into space from sheer beauty, it's hard to tell.

There's supposed to be some ambiguity in the ending, but you still end up picking which option you prefer. You can believe in the magic, and end up with a good movie that has a happy ending. Or don't, and you're left with a badly directed film with an unhappy end.

That is, assuming you like dark fairy tales that contain four and a half monsters. If you don't, you're not going to come out of this film happy either way.

Lost Update

The reports come in varying degrees of certainty, some with more cattiness than necessary, but it seems clear that the producers behind Lost intend to wrap things up in a season and a half or two. They're also pushing to air the fourth season episodes consecutively, with no midseason break to irritate the more skeptical and impatient fans.

I consider my defense of the show vindicated. Even if it ends badly, at least I'll know they tried to learn from The X-Files, at a time when Battlestar Galactica steadfastly ignores its lessons and Heroes takes the easy way out by being easy. (Just a guess here, but I bet the T. Rex Hiro encounters is stuffed.)

Six episodes into season 3, we're being introduced to the Others, and there will be a Juliet flashback when the show resumes in a few weeks. It feels like we've already passed the plot's midpoint. It's nice to know the writers and producers feel the same way. Maybe I can justify getting a Hanso Foundation polo shirt now.

Having given up on Battlestar Galactica, the only end game I'm concerned about is the one on The Office. There are a lot of relationships up in the air, and then there's the more vicious brand of office politics courtesy of Andy from Stamford. I'm beginning to understand why the British show closed up shop before exploring all the possibilities of its concept, and let's be honest, totally caved in the series finale. I watch The Office hoping everyone has a happy ending, but it wouldn't be the same if they did.

My Hat of Magical Realism

I was waiting for Mr. Bile to write his review of Pan's Labyrinth before posting a rebuttal, "Panned Labyrinth," but I was exposed to even deadlier levels of magical realism in the meantime. So allow me to fire the opening shots. Perhaps he will fight back later this week with his magic chalk that has the power to draw on walls.

In one week, I've seen two films that embraced magical realism to some degree. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, magical realism is a contemporary genre in which magic or magical creatures appear in pretentious fiction obstensively set in the real world (Not The Real World. That would actually be kind of cool. "Dude, there's a kappa in the hot tub!"), often to little effect. It's fantasy that refuses to come out of the closest. I mean, you can't expect to get your MBA with a thesis novel titled The Tengu Trilogy, Book 1: The Goblinwood Oxcart, can you?

Pan's Labyrinth is a good example of what I hate about magical realism. Though there is a connection between the fairy tale C-story and the Spanish Revolution plot, the consequences of the the fairy tale could be interpreted as coincidental. Goat Boy and Eye Hands never come out of the walls to aid the Resistance. Hey, I've got a great idea. Let's remake Big Trouble in Little China and have all the monsters only appear to Egg Shen and Eddie Lee. (Actually, that sounds pretty cool, too. It would at least explain why Miao Yin looks about as Asian as Pamela Anderson. "They were crazy Asian guys the whole time!")

Pan's Labyrinth is textbook magical realism. Did the magic make a difference or was it all imagined? What if there are invisible beet creatures that interact with us on a karmic level that we can't see? What if I cared?

Then last night I watched the first 20 minutes of Little Miss Sunshine. While those minutes didn't appropriate fantasy tropes in the traditional sense, the movie does focus on a family of faux Wes Anderson characters who could not exist in the real world. If my ugly teenager decided to stop speaking for several months...fine. Take away his paper, his pen, his computer, his text message allowance, his Scrabble tiles, and his food until he does. (This is probably why Mr. Bile tells me I'd make a good parent.) Unless you admit you're making a full-fledged fantasy or science fiction story, I refuse to take your kid who doesn't speak until dramatically appropriate seriously. Hodor!

Night Taco Mania!

The complete lack of assassination attempts towards me has become galling. A few years ago, I couldn't leave my house for fear of snipers. Now the only reason to stay inside is because it's cold out. Meanwhile, Narraptor is secure in the knowledge that he's worth quite a lot to some very important people.

I decided to work out my frustrations by mastering Hard on Guitar Hero 2. I literally played until my fingers bled, but since that was only five minutes into my first set, my audience remained unimpressed. This was more than made up for by my own reaction, which can be put in the general category of amazement.

Still, I don't want to take Narraptor's success too personally. It's important that even without books to purchase, you should still see Narraptor on his East Coast Tour. His readings are top notch, especially given that he often has to recite deleted chapters from memory. Afterwards, he'll be more than happy to answer the questions of the audience, as long as they are not even remotely connected to the filming of a Cat Paws movie. This includes the Bollywood film that is currently in production, and the Hollywood one that's in danger of being made a "Showtime Exclusive." He will discuss whether or not other authors should have their books made into movies, however. At the end of the show Narraptor always makes sure to throw his cat ears to the crowd, so be alert. His target demographic is prone to frenzy.

My only request is that someone makes sure to ask Narraptor where he gets his ideas from. One day he'll crack, and tell us the real secret that the Author's Guild has been hiding for so long.

East Coast Book Tour

Attention, East Coast readers. I will be flying to Virginia at the end of the month to promote the second novel in my series about a cat who captures serial killers. I will arrive on Saturday, January 27th and leave on Sunday, February 4th. My stay may be cut short if I choose to visit New York at the end of the week for some reason.

Digame, Won't You Tell Me picks up immediately after Manos De Gatos left off. The necrophiliac Bukkake Killer is now locked away in a maximum security aquarium prison, but feline detective Night Taco's favorite librarian has gone missing! Night Taco will have to plumb the depths of the Bukkake Killer's psyche to learn how to see what the kidnapper, who also happens to be a serial killer, sees. Unfortunately for him, this does not work as well as it does in movies!

The first novel in the Cat Paws series is currently out of print, and Digame, Won't You Tell Me won't actually be on shelves until at least 2009. Advance galleys will not be made available during the tour. I will, however, be on hand to sign any Tad Williams books bought in the store.

I Live Some More

Greetings. I am not dead. The most recent attempt on my life has failed.

It was clever plot. A mere hundred feet after my exit onto the 405 the SUV ahead of me pulled to the left, revealing a two-car construction truck stopped just ahead. Unable to switch lanes, I slammed the breaks on my trusty Civic and avoided a collision. The accomplice in the car behind me chickened-out at the last moment, and slowed to a halt rather than drive me into the suspiciously placed blockade.

Had I been unable to stop in time, the last words I heard would have involved Microsoft certification issues on downloadable content for a Xbox game whose title I don't even know.

This was the second assassination I escaped today. Early in the afternoon, I found out the hard way that the office freezer was littered with tiny bits of glass. Thanks to the impromptu surgical skills of a brave administrative assistant, the glass was quickly removed from my fingers, allowing me to type this update for you today.

These events got me thinking. From this moment on, I will live life to the fullest. I've been in a rut for too long. As soon as this is posted, I'm going to download some new podcasts.

In site news, the accidental redesign has received one positive comment. Therefore, the blog will remain in its current state until I get an e-mail from someone who suffers from a medical condition which causes nosebleeds at the sight of green.

Oops

Don't mind me. I was just fooling around with the templates. Unfortunately for us all, the preview function in Blogger doesn't reveal how much negative space the templates employ. And in this particular case, I couldn't even change the background color without re-learning HTML. I'll fiddle with it over the weekend.

Read: Throne of Jade

Nothing says mass-market fantasy like a title that means absolutely nothing without "Book Blank of the Blank Chronicles" to give it context. In this case, Throne of Jade is book two in Naomi Novik's Temeraire series. It's kind of fun after 270 pages. That leaves 194 pages of fun.

As I mentioned some months ago, the Temeraire series is Patrick O'Brien with dragons. What I meant was that it is Patrick O'Brian with dragons. But since one of my New Year's resolutions for the blog is to be less obtuse, I'll elaborate. It's Master and Commander with dragons.

Set during the Napoleonic Wars, Novik imagines a world that has always been populated by dragons, with different breeds native to different regions. Dragons choose companions shortly after hatching (they turn feral if they are born alone). In Temeraire's case, he is seized from a French transport by the British navy as an egg and hatches in their company. He chooses the ship's Captain, Laurence, who must then resign his post to join the British aerial corps.

What separates this series from conventional 15-year-old wish fulfillment fantasy is that the dragons are large enough to be crewed. They are strung with webbed harnesses and carry officers, gunners, and bombers. And though there are chapters devoted to battles and tactics, those are not what Novik excels at. The most interesting conflicts are mannered ones of politics and rank, as they should be in this sort of historical fiction.

Throne of Jade begins shortly after Her Majesty's Dragon left off, with the revelation that Temeraire was originally sent by the Chinese government as a gift for Napoleon. After much to-do and an unnecessary battle sequence, Temeraire and Laurence are ordered to take a ship to China. The English wish to use the dragon as a bartering chip in their war against the French.

While the events that occur during the voyage do eventually have a point--Temeraire, already chafing under the rules of the aerial corps, learns about slavery, which he will later contrast with how respectfully dragons are treated in China--everything that happens before the ship reaches Macao bogs the book down. The sea monster doesn't even appear until page 243. Things pick up afterwards, but the climax turns out to be what the savvy members of the corps suspected all along. The Emperor's brother wanted to use Temeraire in a bid to challenge the throne.

As with the first novel, there are some neat instances of plot creep (my still temporary terminology for when the main character of series becomes more unique and powerful in each installment). For one, Laurence becomes an adopted son of of the Chinese Emperor in order to keep Temeraire. Also, while the Emperor's brother dies as a result of his final attempt on Laurence's life, his dragon does not.

That leaves several plot hooks that might make the next book more interesting. Napoleon still hasn't come after Laurence; Temeraire wants to reform the way England treats dragons, at the very least by giving them a salary for their service; Laurence's father and country will no doubt react badly to his adoption, even if it is in name only; and there's a pissed off albino dragon out there who might want revenge. And judging from the preview chapter, Temeraire and crew are going to take their return trip by land.

In the end, I have the same opinion of this book that I did with the last one. Start with the next book. It could be pretty cool.

Five From The Other Side

If you were happy to read a list last year, then I'm hoping you'll be overjoyed to start the new year with another top five list, containing 80% original material.

5: "God Help You Dumb Boy" (Our Lady Of The Broken Spine, Reverend Glasseye And His Wooden Legs) I have a soft spot in my heart for fake Western music. This year, it comes from In a right and proper world, Emo music would sound like this.

4: "They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come back from the Dead!! Ahhhh!" (Illinoise, Sufian Stevens) This might be the first album in a long time I had to listen to just to see why so many people hated it. Its godawfully long titles are matched by surprisingly fun hooks. However, this song does lose points for only using zombies as a metaphor. If I'm not impressed when George Romero does that, why should I take it from Stevens?

3: RE: Your Brains (Jonathan Coulton) I was tempted to go with Creepy Doll, just to be different. The trouble is, I don't catch myself singing along to Creepy Doll, and I do chant along to the zombies.

2: "Hard Rock Hallelujah" (The Arockalypse, Lordi) Not only does Lordi destroy cheerleaders, they can also bring them back from the dead. More importantly, they can bring me out of my slumbering, which is something my alarm clock can no longer manage. Lordi is also a good choice to one up Guar lovers.

1: "Sex Changes" (Yes Virgina, The Dresden Dolls,) I've had my fill of buying CD's that just make me think how much better it would sound live. So while I was happy with the Dresden Doll's first two albums, I was really waiting for their music to get a nice shiny coat of studio gloss. Yes Virginia provided a nice varnish, and an increased number of fast numbers to make the miles fly by.

As for cheating, I'll direct your attention to Dr. Steel, Gogol Bordello, Khate, and Twink. Also, I'm just going to assume Tom Wait's Big Box Of B-Sides would have been one of my favorites of last year, if I had known it had been released then.

Monster Get

At the same moment that Narraptor was watching The Children Of Men, I was watching Little Monsters for the first time.

There is an almost inconveivably vast list of movies that every member of my peer group has seen, except for me. In High School, this never came up very often. In College, the cracks started to show, and I'd attract suprised looks for comments like, "Aliens? Was it really that good?" Now, they just sigh and shake their heads when they find out that I've subjected myself to four out of six Children Of The Corn films, but I had never bothererd to see any of The Exorcists.

This is not to imply that Little Monsters is a classic film of its time. The 80's has far better monster and Howie Mandel kid's movies for your collection. But the important thing is that by 2015, I should be able to fake my childhood Pop Cluture Cred.