A-Z Characters That Transform: Colin Craven

In The Secret Garden, Mary transforms first. And some scriptwriters obviously feel that her character is somewhat abandoned. They aren't wrong. Colin's recovery kind of overwhelms the last part of the book. 

And it is skillfully done. 

Both Mary and Colin undergo a spiritual transformation before they undergo physical ones. They are both cross, self-centered, friendless, and spoiled (Mary through neglect; Colin through undue deference). They go out into nature, and they are cured! 

Not entirely, but the underlying idea here was common to the time period. It is the same idea that gave rise to muscular Christianity, the YMCA, Boy Scouts, and National Parks. Send people into nature, and they will shed all the bad manners they picked up in the evil urban environment. 

One of the few version to do 

the scene correctly. 

Frances Hodgson Burnett, however, was also a decent observer of children. Colin and Mary's transformations are more organic and realistic than Pocahontas dancing through the trees. One of the best scenes in the entire book is when Mary shouts down Colin's tantrum. He is convinced that he felt "a lump." Mary insists on scanning his back and tells him, in utter scorn, that there isn't a lump; if he claims there is again, "I shall laugh!"  

Burnett writes, "No one but Colin himself knew what effect those crossly spoken childish words had on him. And now that an angry, unsympathetic little girl insisted obstinately that he was not at all as he thought he was, he actually felt as if she might be speaking the truth."

It is an excellent true-to-life moment. Nature helps Colin. So does another child and not just any another child--but an equally sharp and clever cousin. And although Mary changes, she doesn't lose her sharp cleverness. She doesn't become angelic.   

The second part of the transformation is that Colin gets out of bed and eventually can walk and run. 

For some reason, filmmakers balk at this. They either have him not entirely recover or so slowly that the final scene is Colin tottering to reach his dad rather than acting as he does in the book: a totally ADHD, I-got-a-billion-ideas-brewing-at-a-time unstoppable force who RUNS at his father. 

I suspect they are afraid of making Colin TOO well (and consequently making some viewers feel bad or something). A solution is embedded in the text yet few films use it: Colin's doctor doesn't particularly want him to get well and practices a kind of Munchausen's by Proxy on him (see The Sixth Sense). The doctor's tut-tutting and bad doctoring create tension as well as a possible mystery and could provide a really decent pay-off (which is never used though one of the versions makes Mrs. Medlock overly protective).  

The most remarkable aspect of Burnett's text is not only that Colin gets better but that he gets better is such a specific way, retaining a core personality. He and Mary, who are cousins, are like two sides of a genetic coin. They are both curious,  smart, interested in practical matters. Mary is a doer, someone who wants to dig into earth. Colin wants to carry out real-world experiments but he is more about books and learning and starting his own religion or philosophy. 

It is easy to picture them after World War I (which, unfortunately, would have arrived when Mary and Colin were anywhere between 13 and 24 depending on whether the book takes place in 1900 or 1911): Mary and Colin and, if they could persuade him, Dickon go to digs in Mesopotamia where Mary works as an archaeologist and Colin as an anthropologist. Dickon keeps them safe. 

The differing mental framework here remains consistent throughout the book!  

The Secret Garden: Will a Filmmaker Ever Get it Right?

My latest A-Z List is about characters who transform. The Secret Garden has lots of such characters! Before posting about a few, I am posting about the book and its movies. 

Frankly, most of the movies are fairly dreadful because they mostly miss the point. Although the book is classified (by some) as "fantasy," it isn't. Colin talks about magic, but his belief system is part of the Bohemian, pre-Progressive philosophies that show up later in the writings of people like Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Nothing "magical" happens in the book unless one counts dreams. The entire point--the entire point--is that the natural processes around Colin and Mary are precisely and exactly that: natural. 

The second point that is almost always missed is how hard Colin and Dickon and Mary work to restore the secret garden. The fact that they don't have to start from scratch is entirely due to Ben Weatherstaff having visited the garden and done a fair amount of work pruning and such over the 10-year break (which Dickon acknowledges). But there's still more to be done. 

The story is not about cutesy children "playing." They are outside doing a job. The job is what gives them a new outlook on life and burgeoning sense of purpose. 

The book also isn't Freudian despite the desperate attempts of various filmmakers to make it Freudian. Mary isn't traumatized. She is angry. Archibald Craven isn't excused as a bad father due to his terrible trauma. He just is one. He is also rather pathetic which is why Colin could want to impress his father and then move on with his life.  

The story is about children being children, not children being a mental mess.  

This past summer I watched and rewatched some of the films--

Secret Garden (1949): The best thing about this version is Dean Stockwell and Margaret O'Brien screaming at each other. They are both professionals (at age 13 and 12) and have the right look. In fact, I think O'Brien would have done a better job if she had been allowed to act as tough as Mary does in the book (she clearly had the ability) instead of descending into 1940s maudlin-triteness. Dean Stockwell has less to do but is exactly on-target. 

Secret Garden (1987): The actress who plays Mary (Gennie James) is quite good. Unfortunately, the movie is entirely ruined by the actor (Jadrien Steele) who plays Colin. 

He is just about the healthiest, sturdiest "sickly" youngster I've ever seen on television. He also looks like an English squire, on the verge of shouting, "I say--what what--bring me a brandy--what what." 

Not exactly a boy with "a sharp, delicate face, the colour of ivory, and [agate-grey] eyes too big for it," who has a penchant for philosophy and cries out when he enters the garden, "I shall live forever and ever and ever."

I couldn't help but wonder if Barret Olivier, from Neverending Story, who does a decent job as Dickon (standing in the back), was supposed to be Colin--except he shot up several feet before filming. He has the right type of face. 

Secret Garden (1993) is the best of the lot. The characters are well-cast. The children work in the garden at least. The philosophical magic is replaced with an invented ritual, but the idea is the same. The reveal is nicely done (though I still believe that the book does it best). The movie doesn't end with the bang it should, and I suspect the problem may be the book itself, not the movie. 

I review Secret Garden (2020) here. In sum, it is lush and beautiful and completely misses the point. 

The next post will address Colin's transformation.  

What is It about Doctor Shows?

Some of the earliest popular television shows were doctor dramas. And almost from the beginning--even in the 1/2 hour shows--they were soooo angst-filled.

I spent a lot of time in the Maine Med ER these past four+ years waiting for people to put my parents through tests, and I can attest that doctors aren't sitting around clutching their heads and hearts. They aren't constantly experiencing crisis of faith or belief or whatever. Thank goodness! 

Arguably watching angst-filled people still perform efficiently is the attraction of these shows. (Watch life and death being handled by a professional!) But the look-at-so-much-competence-amongst-so-much-HORROR is rather draining.

Between Ben Casey and Dr. Kildare, I found Dr. Kildare slightly less oppressive, in part because Richard Chamberlain is a decent actor and also because the day-to-day grind is often emphasized (in the earlier seasons, at least). 

But generally speaking, these shows bring home why early MASH was so comparatively impressive. For one, it had already laid claim to the ultimate angst: War! Consequently, the doctors act more like actual doctors, focused on their expertise, guided mostly by practical self-interest and basic needs. 

It didn't take long for MASH to become self-conscious (by about Season 4). I used to put down the change to anti-war lecturing pompousness taking over. But now I wonder if the looming tradition of Important and Suffering Doctors was the factor. 

Too bad. Watching people do a job is more interesting, ultimately, than watching people clutch their heads and hearts.  

Books to Movies: Sad Endings Versus Depressing Endings

I am generally not a fan of sad endings, mostly because I think they are cop-outs. Any struggling writer can earn instant accolades from daft critics by throwing in DARK scenes and TRAGIC denouements and LOTS OF JARGON with DEPRESSING ANALYSIS. 

So what? 

It is so much harder to successfully resolve problems in a reasonably happy way. I review romance novels in a connected blog. Because many of my reviews tend to be negative, it may appear that there are very few good romance novels out there. In truth, there are excellent romance novels available. They are simply harder to write and rarely earn critical (as in, higher academic) approval. 

I think The Hobbit only didn't end on a depressing note because one can go on to watch The Lord of the Rings. I write elsewhere about how Jackson should have paid off Tauriel better, even if he kept the book ending and (still) killed off Kili and Fili. 

The Lord of the Rings, in contrast, ends sadly but not depressingly. In fact, I'm not sure I would even call it "sad." The Japanese do a better job tackling the sad-but-not-right-and-fitting-and-lovely-while-aching:

Mono no aware. 

Frodo is the Fisher King, like King Arthur: the hero king or prince with a wound that never heals. He cannot stay. And however sad I find Tolkien's solution here, I also think it is more honest--in some ways--than fantasies that want everything to return to being EXACTLY THE SAME. They can't. Merry and Pippin and Sam have changed. The Scouring of the Shire changed Hobbit culture. The departure of the elves changes Middle Earth. It's good and bad. It's life. It's inevitable. 

Tolkien wasn't afraid of age or change. So Frodo leaves. 

I cry every time I read the book or watch the trilogy. But I am left feeling fulfilled because the ending is a well-written and appropriate ending.   

Bilbo's Transformation

A great deal has been written about Bilbo's handling of his midlife crisis. 

From a writing perspective, Bilbo is a transformative character par excellence, in part because he transforms without becoming someone else. 

The challenge of the transforming character is the problem of Scrooge (who will naturally come up later). If the character changes too much--like the Beast to the Prince--the audience might feel cheated or indifferent. After all, replacing Character A with Character B is not much of a transformation. It's just an exchange. 

Bilbo remains Bilbo. But much more Bilbo-ish than he might have been otherwise. 

From one of my Tolkien posts, I state: 

Bilbo remakes himself; he still values the comforts of the cozy life yet he is willing and able to appreciate the dangers he has experienced:

A pivotal moment echoed by the lines from the movie below.

Bilbo Baggins: No! I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them. It is far more than any Baggins deserves.

Bilbo Baggins: One day I'll remember. Remember everything that happened: the good, the bad, those who survived... and those that did not.

This is the Bilbo who will adopt and raise the near saintly Frodo, who saves not just hobbits but  the entire world. Could (would) Bilbo have done it otherwise?

The remarkable aspect of Tolkien's and Jackson's approach to this change is that while the redefinitions have epic results, the redefinitions themselves are human, ordinary, even small.

"He was my friend," Bilbo says of Thorin in the movie (reflecting the relationship in the book), a small declaration in which the entire Fellowship (and the future of the ring) is contained.

 

Great Human Moment in One Punch Man

is...fine. 

Dorothy Sayers wrote that there is no group of people who can't find common ground complaining about drains. 

In sum, some practical conditions of human mortality crop up again and again--which is where humor comes from.

In One Punch Man, an asteroid--or rather, parts of an asteroid since Saitama prevents the entire rock hitting the planet--takes out areas in a city. Saitama notes that the "supermarket is in ruins...But my old landlord's building is fine? Tch!"

The anime uses this event: Saitama complains that the apartment building that he got evicted from is still standing while everything around it is reduced to rubble!

Anyone can relate to unsatisfactory landlords and the fact that karma honestly doesn't happen according to plan.  

And here's a joke about drains: 

 

 

All the Ms: Mahy to Mairal

Mahy, Margaret: Mahy, who mostly writes children’s books, wrote the teen book The Changeover. I’m a fan! 

Maia, Ward: The short story "Summer Santa" falls into the category of travelogue + romance. Travelogue romance is mostly about two people enjoying time together in a country--in this case, Brazil--often on vacation. There isn't much plot but I don't suppose these types of stories need to have plot.

Mailer, Norman: I didn’t especially want to read anything by Mailer. Mailer is one of those writers that I always felt I was supposed to read in order to be “well-read” or edified or edgy. I hate reading for that reason. But I read the opening of The Naked and the Dead, which introduces soldiers heading to a campaign. None of them are likable. War is awful. So...Mailer is a good writer. Can I move on now? (For all I know, Mailer is now on the “outs” with the kind of people who monitor what others read for their own good. It doesn’t matter. "This is what one ought to read" is usually a big red flag in the arts.) 

Maine, Sarah: Women of the Dunes is a tale that transitions from the late medieval era to the modern era to the late nineteenth century. Rather than exploring documents, the main character Libby is an archaeologist. And the area is Scotland. Somewhat unique. 

Mairal, Pedro: The Woman From Uruguay is about the dissolution of a marriage. The “you” in the text is appropriate (I’m generally opposed to “you” in texts) since the narrator is addressing his to-be-estranged wife. But the “oh, my goodness, how could this happen to us; it must be different from what has ever happened to others” stuff is tedious. Out of all the genres, the genre of the messed-up marriage is the most cliched despite the fact that it is treated with such intellectual gravity. 

Transformation: Arrietty and Does She Transform Too Much?

The new A-Z List is about characters, some in disguise, who transform or reveal themselves. I find this particular theme particularly captivating. Unlike other lists, which went by author, this list will go by characters' names. 

* * *

My mom read me the Borrower books by Mary Norton when I was growing up. Between The Borrowers Aloft (the fourth book of the first set) and The Borrowers Avenged lie 21 years. 

The Borrowers Avenged is likely one of the last books she read aloud to me since as I got older and better at reading (I struggled when I was younger), I didn't wait for her to finish a book with me. 

What I remember from that time is that my mom didn't care for the book because she thought the author altered Arrietty's fundamental character. 

I recently reread the entire series, and I have to agree. I wonder if the author was trying to answer problems and questions raised by her readers. (Another reason artists should satisfy but ignore their audiences.)

In the early books, Arrietty loves the outdoors. She hates being locked in under the floor. Her desire to be outside is not only to have more scope and not feel confined. She loves the outdoors for its own sake. Despite being smoked out of her first home, despite the cold and wet and danger of the countryside, Arrietty still cries out with relief and pleasure when Pod and Homily, her father and mother, decide to leave the cottage to try their hand again in the outdoors. 

Arrietty does keep a diary, but she mostly writes because she can and it gives her a break from her mother. A true writer would have filled the tiny journal Pod got for Arrietty. Such a writer would go on to use whatever writing surfaces were available to scribble out more. Arrietty doesn't. 

She reads for the same reason, being more interested in factual information than made-up stories. She is active, moving, never entirely still. She would be a hiker, mountaineer, and adventurer if she was human. (I wrote that line as someone who ISN'T a hiker, mountaineer, or adventurer. I'm not disappointed in later Arrietty because I think she should be more like me. I am disappointed because I liked her for herself.) 

From Borrowers Afield

In The Borrowers Avenged, Arrietty and Pod and Homily find themselves in a large, rambling, historically protected vicarage that is inhabited by a single couple. They end up in "rooms" that give them access to the outside; Pod even suggests that he will use the skills he acquired during their time in the "wild" to collect food from the overgrown garden and pond. If she wants to experience nature, Arrietty can travel to the end of the drive and climb a bush (while remaining well-groomed, like a woman riding a horse side-saddle). She can also travel to the nearby church to visit her relatives. Moreover, she meets another young borrower, a partly lame young man who recently moved into the building's birdhouses. He is kind, intelligent, literary, and likes to paint. 

On the one hand, I can understand Norton wanting to give Arrietty more dating options than the exceedingly uncommunicative Spiller. And the new home offers more to the family than the other homes did. And people, especially teens, do change as they mature. 

She wears trousers!

On the other, in this last book, I feel that Arrietty is literarily confined by her author. Suddenly, not only do other borrowers protest at Arrietty's behavior, the author does as well! Arrietty needs to calm down, settle down, accept her lot in life. 

I've never been one to buy into the cliche of imprisoning suburbia where a good little woman in a pretty dress greets her hardworking husband with a cocktail at the end of the day. I grew up in suburbia in the 1970s. Not only did none of the women I knew act that way, none of their mothers had acted that way. (The woman next door did keep redecorating her house but she also started a business, so...). 

It's a lovely picture. Still--look at

the illustrations above.

Nonetheless, I felt at the end of my recent rereading of the entire Borrower series that "round" and energetic Arrietty had been pressed into a "square" hole: she had been put-in-her-place. She and Spiller even have a kind of fight at the end. She won't be traveling up and down the river with him and their borderline wild kids. Or catching a ride on a visitor's coat (like Stainless did) to explore a nearby town as if it was a new country. 

Instead, Arrietty is going to get married to a guy who corrects her grammar, produce proper little borrower children who behave in traditional ways, live a tidy little life in a reasonably acceptable house that she can't really complain about...

The writer seems to be saying, Haven't I given you what you wanted? There's a grate to the outside! There's a bush! Now, be happy and stop complaining.  

It is very sad. 

Arrietty aside, other parts of the last book are quite good. Peregrine is an interesting addition. Pod and Homily are getting the type of house THEY want. Aunt Lupy is hilariously presented as having "repented" her snobbery because she went to live in a church. Her son IS a wild child. 

And...Arrietty is now a proper grown-up.

*Sigh.*  

So transformation is good--but if it undermines the fundamental personality of a character, it may be considered a failure rather than a triumph.  The solution lies somewhere between Alice and 1982 Arrietty. 

Transformation NOT: Alice in Wonderland

The new A-Z List (A-Z List 11) is about characters who transform. Character pull off disguises. They reveal true intentions. They change their moral attitudes and/or beliefs. 

Arguably, all characters do the above. The most basic premise of the fantasy narrative arc, for instance, is that the protagonist experiences an internal epiphany. Luke gains courage and self-belief; he listens to the Force. Various characters determine not to become immortal; Dante (the character) matures from obsessed with petty sins to caring about God. 

However, some characters honestly don't change--or not change in the sense that I apply to this list. Alice of Wonderland has lots of things happen to her and she undergoes a great many things. But her fundamental "every girl" personality doesn't alter. She gets taller and smaller but she is still always Alice and the physical transformations have zero impact on her fundamental personality or status. She isn't even Cinderella, looking to climb the ladder! 

Regarding this issue of change, I will address a second "A" character, Arrietty, in the next post; the question I will tackle there is, When does TOO MUCH transformation change the character SO much, the reader might as well give up on the book/series entirely? 

Overall, the list will tackle transformation within a particular, individual self.  

Lesson from the Ms: Make It Personal

Her rage is personal.

Less noble. More interesting.

Perusing so many fiction books, I've been reminded of how much human beings love stories. They love them for many reasons, including C.S. Lewis and Tolkien's belief that in creating story, human beings are trying to emulate their creator. 

Here, I suggest that stories allow us to zero in on the personal. Out of all the complications within life, we can focus on an individual. Through that individual, the complications sometimes come into focus.  

I wrote a story many years ago based on Sleeping Beauty, only my "Sleeping Beauty" was a prince who was cursed with unending sleep if he should ever pick up a sword (rather than a spindle). And I put him in a warrior-type culture; here's a guy who can't relate to any of the male figures in his society, not to mention he has nothing to do all day, and he's really brassed off about it all.

The witch was young and sophisticated and rather ruthless. She was one of the first female characters I created who wasn't just me dressed up in someone else's clothes (I was about 20 at the time). Her motivation for cursing the prince was her hatred of war.

Even at the tender age of 20, I wasn't much of an anti-warmonger, but that didn't matter because the character wasn't me. The problem with giving the witch an abstract reason wasn't my lack of empathy; it was that the abstraction got boring and generalized.  

I realized that to make the story work as a story, I had to change her motivation. That is, I had to make the reason for her behavior personal. She hated war, but she hated war because it killed off her lovers. She wants one lover who will stick around for more than a couple of months. So, she curses the prince, and, since witches don't die and don't get old, as soon as he gets old enough, she takes him for her own. A sort of Chia Pet homegrown boyfriend!

The story wasn't a statement about war. It was about an individual's free will--how much the prince has or doesn't have. And for the story to work, the witch's motivation had to become something close and personal, rather than abstract and faraway. 

Along the same lines...

Every time I watch early X-Files, I am impressed again by how complete Mulder and Scully are as characters. One writing aspect the show got spot on was making Mulder's quest personal. He has a back-up group of conspiracy theorists, the Lone Gun Men, and although I believe one of them has a personal story behind his obsession, they are mostly obsessed for the sake of being obsessed--the abstract motivation: The Truth is Out There. And they make fine minor characters. But for a major character, abstract motivation isn't enough. 

By making Mulder's obsession personal (his sister) and then giving him Scully as a sounding board, the creators of X-Files gave the show the kind of relationship and existential grit that every show since has tried to copy. Scully becomes Mulder's safety net. He can allow himself to go crazy because he knows he has this cautious voice-of-reason to hold him down.

In terms of plot, I never did get the whole "Scully was given to Mulder to discredit his work and Mulder is allowed to continue to keep him from becoming a martyr" explanation since, as far as I'm concerned, dead men tell no tales. Mulder dead would be less of a problem to the bad guys than Mulder with Scully. I agree with Phil Farrand that Cigarette Smoking man is Mulder's dad; he came up with all that "can't make him a martyr" crap to keep Mulder alive. 

And that relationship at the personal level has grit. 

At its best, the show explored attitudes and complexities of belief. But it did it through focusing on the personal, not the abstract.

Books to Movies: Tolkien's Visuals

When evaluating movies, it is important to remember: film is about the visuals. 

Books can do things that film cannot, and the film will communicate in ways that books can't and don't.  

In Return of the King, for instance, Aragorn doesn't enter the White City until he is crowned--other than to heal various people. To enter as a royal would be the equivalent of a coup, and since Faramir is laid-up and can't formally step down as steward, Aragorn sets up in a tent outside the city. 

I agree with Jackson's decision not to have Aragorn set up outside the city, simply because it would throw yet another setting at the viewer that would have to be explained (and potentially achieve more importance than it actually has). So the conversation about what to do after the victory on the Pelennor Fields takes place in a throne room the viewer already knows--bringing home that Aragorn has good reason to be there. Not taking the throne while he is in the throne room brings home that he is biding his time. 

Likewise, one of the most stunning visuals in The Lord of the Rings occurs when everyone kneels to the hobbits. Frankly, it also isn't totally in keeping with Tolkien's vision. Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin are important, but they are part of their own history. They are honored but they don't supplant the importance of the High King's return. 

However, the visual is impressive and heart-stirring and underscores Jackson's homily: Even the smallest person can change the course of history.   

Alexander McCall Smith's Latest: In the Time of the Pumpkins

The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series is one of the few series that I continue to follow despite the books numbering over 3.

I often lose interest in series after book 3 (maybe 4). And in truth, I don't stay current on any of McCall Smith's other series.

But the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency novels continue to delight me. 

In the Time of Five Pumpkins delighted me.

It moves somewhat faster than some others. Quite often the books are very slice-of-life. I can pick them up and put them down without worrying about cliffhangers. In this case, however, I was curious about the two main cases, especially since one, rather classically, suggested a murder plot. 

It wasn't. And I didn't bother to add *spoilers* here since I knew it wasn't a murder at the time. Part of the series' charm is that it is full of exciting moments but rarely, if ever, melodramatic ones. I love murder mysteries! I also greatly admire a mystery novel that can create mystery without resorting to murder. 

McCall Smith is able to pull off this feat (Okay, it isn't murder but what could it be?) because he has the capacity to imagine new problems. By "new," I don't mean "edgy." The problems, like problems between a husband and wife, come up again and again. But they never come up again in entirely the same way as before. Nothing does. It's repetition without being repetitious. 

So even Mma Ramotswe's white van--though its problems crop up over and over--never poses the exact same problems. In The Time of Five Pumpkins, for instance, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni brings up electric door options. Mma Ramotswe is puzzled. Are people so lazy, they can't simply go around and lock the other door? 

As someone with electric car door features that don't work, I appreciate Mma Ramotswe's point!

And McCall Smith surprised me since Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni gets a possible friend. It never really occurred to me that he didn't have a "buddy." Not everybody needs one. I'm not sure Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni needs one. But I was impressed at the possibility being presented. 

As well as insightful and unexpected moments, the book has several very funny moments (those tight pants!). 

The one wish I have is that Fanwell, like Charlie, would get a little more story. 

Maybe the next book!    

Interview with the Translator: Halloween & Zombies

Kate: The Hinman who attack Risai and Gyousuu’s group in Hills of Silver Ruins seem like a cross between zombies and werewolves. 

Do the Japanese have an interest in zombie popular culture? To the same extent as Americans? And do they link their zombies to Voodoo? (American zombies aren't really linked to Voodoo, but everyone pretends they are.)

Eugene: Like Halloween (which has exploded in popularity over the past decade), Hollywood horror has inserted itself into contemporary culture while becoming influential on the home-grown Japanese genres. Consider that an episode of Fruits Basket includes a running joke about "Jason" from Friday the 13th.

Vampires and zombies are two examples. The Japanese versions often tweak the origins stories but otherwise import them in recognizable form, such as the vampires in Call of the Night (a well done teen vampire dramedy). Hellsing gives us both vampires and zombies.

 

Hellsing employs the now standard trope of a secret government demon hunting corps. Hellsing takes place in England, and the group is led by a descendant of  Abraham Van Helsing. Demon Slayer, Jujutsu Kaisen, and Chainsaw Man have all used the same-only-different formula.

Voodoo references can be replaced by similar Shinto concepts. The idea of cursing someone via a symbolic representation of that person (commonly a paper or straw doll) is a common one in Shinto-based horror and goes as far back as at least the 11th century and The Tale of Genji.

The demon slayers in Chainsaw Man hack their way through a whole army of zombies in the big climax, though the zombies are just collateral damage on the way to taking out the Big Bad, an overpowered "gun demon" from the other side of the Pacific.

All the Ms: Mah to Mahoney

Ann Mah: Ann Mah, author of kitchen chinese and other books, showcases the difference between first-generation immigrants and second-generation immigrants. Although Mah, like Amy Tan, explores her connection to China, the experience and attitude is quite different. For one, Mah's stories seem less fraught with significance–though still more significant than, say, me exploring my “English” roots. In fact, the book refers to Amy Tan, claiming that the main character’s experience is NOT an Amy Tan novel. 

Karan Mahajan: Family Planning presents the relationship between a teenage boy and his father in a very large family in India. The writing is quite good! 

Kerri Maher: The Girl in White Gloves is a fictional retelling of Grace Kelly’s life with the focus on her marriage to Prince Rainier with flashbacks. Since the first chapter convinced me of what I’d heard–that her marriage was somewhat confining–and of what I believe about royal marriages to begin with (they are a fate worse than death), I didn’t read further. 

Naguib Mahfouz: I encountered an entire shelf of novels by Naguib Mahfouz. I then discovered that the author is a Nobel Prize winner. I chose Arabian Nights & Days, which is a “what happens after the fairy tale” story, of which I greatly approve! What happens AFTER Shahrzad tells her stories? And what is happening elsewhere? 

Shanna Mahin: What is it with California novels and short stories? They are full of angsty people on the edge of…something…doing...something. And they think the entire world is about that something. So they write books about discovering what everyone outside of California already knows: the whole world isn't about that. The first chapter of Oh! You Pretty Things nearly hooked me since it introduces a character–not the narrator–who might have a fascinating backstory. And then I realized that the book was about the narrator, who can't figure out how to get a new life without going to work for a celebrity. And I lost interest. 

Dennis Mahoney: Bell Weather, which takes place in an alternative history, starts with a fantastic rescue! It is one of those books I may come back to. 

Kristin Mahoney: Elfie Unperfect is an interesting case of a cover not matching up to the book’s initial tone. The initial tone is of a young Daria (fourth grade) who is more clueless than dry. Not entirely humorous. The humor seems more aimed at her own literal-minded cluelessness except the narrator comes across as too aware to be entirely clueless. I felt mostly nonplussed rather than amused. (For something maybe similar I do recommend, try the hilarious and dry-witted Anastasia Krupnik books by Lois Lowry instead.) 

The Royal Who Is Really Something Else

Zahler's book The Thirteenth Princess brings up the classic archetype: the royal disguised as a servant or ordinary person.

Twain's The Prince and the Pauper, of course, tackles the royal disguised as a peasant and the peasant disguised as a royal. 

I'll focus on the royal disguised as an ordinary citizen here. 

The book retells the fairytale of the Twelve Princesses. The tale is a great one since it offers so much scope to writers. The Twelve Princesses can be heroines. They can be snobs. Their parents can be cursed. They can be tyrants. The kingdom to where the princesses go to dance can be evil, amoral, or protective. 

And everything in-between! 

Zahler makes interesting choices. For one, Zita, the thirteenth princess is being raised as a servant. I'm not providing spoilers because the book begins with Zita already knowing. In fact, everyone already knows. 

I don't entirely buy the reason for Zita being raised as a servant. I think there was a more likely reason lurking in the corners of the book (and I'm not sure why the author didn't use that reason). The king later gets upset about what neighboring kings think. A man who worries about what neighboring kings think would treat his princess daughter as a princess, not matter how much he personally fears or hates or blames her for something. 

However, the "disguise" provides motivation for Zita to take on the quest. In addition--and here I thought Zahler provided excellent insights--Zita comes to realize that her sisters are in many ways as limited as she is. When I watched Manor House, I was struck by this truth. In many ways, the servants--who did not have easy lives--had better social relationships than the "uppercrust." The single sister of the lady of the manor got so depressed at her lack of scope (she was a working woman in contemporary life) that she left. In reality, of course, she would have had other singles and charity work to occupy her. However, her reaction does dovetail with accounts of women of that time. 

The middle classes truly always have been better off: not too poor to starve; not too rich to be forced into limiting social expectations. 

Zita is a good "fly on the wall" of the fairy tale! 

This final character analysis segues quite nicely into the next A-Z List. I enjoyed covering characters so much that the next list will do the same, only this time, the characters are characters transform: that is, their true personalities are revealed either because they take off an actual disguise or because they change over time. 

The next A-Z list will go by character rather than by author. 

 

Stop the Christie Murder: the Most Obvious Person in The Caribbean Mystery

My prevention detectives in A Caribbean Mystery wouldn't have to do much detection! They would simply need to listen to Major Palgrave. 

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The mystery illustrates how remarkable Christie was. It begins with boring Major Palgrave wittering on about his life experiences to Miss Marple. He is the master of the shaggy dog story and some of his shaggy dog stories have to do with murders. He tells Miss Marple about a particular murderer who kept repeating his "schtick" (rather like the Brides in the Bath murder) and lo and behold, that's what happens in the story! 

So how does Christie make it a mystery?

The first is the number of red herrings. There are so many people who might be murderers. The second is that Miss Marple begins to doubt whether the primary story Major Palgrave told her WAS the murder she should be looking out for, especially since he told more than one story. Is it a male murderer or a female murderer she should have her eye on? 

And since Christie has done this type of thing before--all the clues are there but the reader was misled about the true importance of a clue--the reader has every reason to trust Miss Marple's doubts...even though the actual murder plan is in plain view. 

Want to see the picture of a murderer?

Christie is sometimes accused of having the least-obvious person in the story be the murderer but, in fact, she almost always went for the most obvious person. Husbands kill wives. Wives kill husbands. Greedy people kill for money. And so on. 

We readers just feel that the murderer is the least-obvious person because Christie is that good! 

In this case, my prevention detectives simply need to look around for the couple that fit Major Palgrave's story and then keep an eye on the husband.  

Characters as Society: Yugi Yamada

One of my favorite mangaka (an artist who writes the manga' story and draws its characters) is Yugi Yamada. One reason I like her so much is that the characters come across as real, fleshy, non-abstract. 

Another reason I like Yamada so much is that she gives her characters friends and neighbors and co-workers, who are all different types with differing personalities. That is, they are not all students or all rivals or all co-workers. One series supplies a married couple with a baby; friends who are thinking about dating; friends who are already dating and even an ex-member of the group. 

Moreover, her characters tend to interrelate, so that one character in one manga may make an appearance in another. 

What Yamada does here is quite difficult. So often, "extras" in manga or books or even movies can become confusing or so similar, they simply blur together. I have often started books where the sheer volume of names being thrown at me results in me putting the book down. 

Yamada's triumph is that her social worlds, like her characters, feel real and fleshy, and yet the main story doesn't get lost. Readers see that world through a central conflict/arc. The world was created for the characters, not the other way around. 

 Yamada's characters have full lives, which is quite attractive. 

The Dumbest Trope of All Dumb Tropes

Okay--maybe there are dumber ones. But this one is pretty dumb:

The bad guys (or vampires in hiding) set up in a SMALL TOWN. 

And...they get pinpointed and "outed."

Well, duh. The whole point of the small town is that "everyone knows your name." It's all about the regulars, what so-and-so is doing this week. The sheriff quite literally walks around and asks folks how they are doing. 

I give a pass to Andy Griffith's "Aunt Bee Gets a Job" in part because the counterfeiters ARE stupid. They are EXACTLY the type of people who would buy into the trope. And their clients are equally stupid since one of them exchanges Aunt Bee's employment check for part of his fake cash. In truth, I quite enjoy the episode since I like the Andy Griffith "case" episodes where Andy puts together clues. The episode also offers some truly hilarious moments.

But when an author actually thinks "oh, of course, nobody will find my characters in this tiny town!" I have to surmise that the author is too dumb for me to read. 

Sayers explains in Unnatural Death better than everyone why CITY is the better hiding place:

To the person who has anything to conceal--to the person who wants to lose his identity as one leaf among the leaves of a forest--to the person who asks no more than to pass by and be forgotten, there is one name above others which promises a haven of safety and oblivion. London. Where no one know his neighbour. Where shops do not know their customers. Where physicians are suddenly called to unknown patients whom they never see again. Where you may lie dead in your house for months together unmissed and unnoticed till the gas-inspector comes to look at the meter. Where strangers are friendly and causal. London, whose rather untidy and grubby bosom is the repository of so many odd secrets. Discreet, incurious, and all-enfolding London.

Parker still tracks down the information he wants, but it takes him trekking through 37 law offices to find a witness. A less dedicated law officer would have give up! 

Cities are far better hiding places than small towns. 

The Dysfunctional MacBeths

The dysfunction in MacBeth's primary relationship isn't that Lady MacBeth talks MacBeth into killing the king. That's bad. But from a relationship point of view, it isn't automatically the thing that destroys the relationship. 

What destroys the relationship is that Lady MacBeth can't control what she has inspired. 

In Gaudy Night, Dorothy Sayers's characters discuss what happens when one spouse limits or pulls down the other, either intentionally or unintentionally. The problem with MacBeth entails the opposite behavior (one spouse pushes rather than limits the other) but it relates to the first: one couple is trying to design or fix or otherwise manufacture a "perfect" spouse. In Lady MacBeth's case, that perfect spouse is a king. In another case, a perfect spouse might be one who doesn't do that type of work or write that type of stuff or spend time on those kinds of causes. 

The ambitions are different but the intent and subsequent behavior is the same: organizing someone else's life to make one's own life feel organized. 

Lady MacBeth fails in the long run and she fails before it is clear that MacBeth is doomed. She fails because actions have consequences. The act of assassination didn't occur on paper. It occurred in real life. MacBeth didn't turn into a nicely ambitious bloke. He turned into a nut-case. 

I suggest, as have others, that even if MacBeth hadn't turned into a nut-case, he still would have failed Lady MacBeth. Again, actions don't have tidy consequences. Eventually, she would have become another enemy, another person standing in his way. It was only a matter of time. 

Better, truly, for people to know what they are marrying than to try to force a spouse towards what they imagine they are marrying. 

*MacBeth is one of those plays that works at the narrative level, no matter what its trappings--like Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast. A number of mystery shows have "done" Lady MacBeth, including Jake & the Fatman, Season 1, "Rhapsody in Blue." Strong parts for many actors!

Josephine Tey's Alan Grant

Repost from 2005.

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The best description of Josephine Tey's novels is comedy of manners. My favorite of her books is To Love and Be Wise in which she lightly, but elegantly, satirizes modern novelists in a small village, including the super profound novelist, Silas Weekly, who writes about manure and adultery and corruption in rural locations. A character remarks that the literary press adored Silas until he became popular; then, they decided he was old hat.

Tey's detective is Alan Grant, and one of the nice things about Grant is that he is imperfect. I don't mean imperfect in the "let's deconstruct his flaws" sense; I mean imperfect in the sense that Tey herself stands apart from Grant. She doesn't defend him. 

With Ngaoi Marsh, I always feel that Marsh is trying to convince me what a truly nice guy Alleyn is. Christie is more detached from Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, but in terms of detection, they make no errors. And Sayers was invested in explicating Wimsey's personality, which is entirely appropriate to the kind of novels that she wrote. 

But Grant is simply, just, this guy, ya know (as somebody says of somebody else in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy). 

John Vine plays Grant

in 1988 Franchise Affair

He is fully admirable, being intelligent and diligent. Like Alleyn, he is looked up to by his sidekick, but Grant comes right out and admits that he likes a little adulation. (Alleyn has to pretend that he isn't being hero-worshiped, which must be a strain.) Grant is rather detached himself. His cousin, Laura, can never get him to marry, and Grant misses several opportunities simply because he isn't paying attention. He isn't absent-minded; his detachment comes from a kind of indifference; after all, Grant doesn't want to get married. He is more Archie Goodwin than Wimsey. His female love interest (sort of) is Marta, an actress, who doesn't want to get married either and usually scares men. She latches onto the confident Grant.

As well as tremendous confidence, Grant is somewhat prideful, not in the "I'm better than others" sense, but in his sureness about his own abilities. He has a "flare" for odd situations, but he isn't even remotely the insightful, thoughtful, concerned, all-knowing, tortured detective of so much detective fiction. He likes being a cog in a machine. And despise his flaws, he isn't unlikable. 

His full character is a remarkable feat of writing, in part because it is so lightly rendered. 

Tey books in order of my preference:

• To Love and Be Wise (Grant) 
• Franchise Affair (Grant has a cameo appearance) 
• Daughter of Time (Grant)  
• Brat Farrar  
• The Singing Sands (Grant) 
• A Shilling for Candles (Grant) 
• Man in the Queue (Grant) 
• Miss Pym Disposes