Sacrilicious

LISNEWS had an article a few days ago about artist Brian Dettmer, who carves old books into pieces of art. You can see more of his work at the Packer Schopf Gallery. Incidentally, this Gallery also features art by Clive Barker (”Ah, the suffering. The sweet suffering.”) and Peggy Macnamara, artist in residence of Chicago’s Field Museum.

Recycled book art is not, of course, unknown. It crops up every so often. Most recently, I’ve seen it from artists like Su Blackwell and Thomas Allen.

Blackwell’s pieces tend to have an otherworldly feel about them. Not surprising, really, given that several of them are based on classic fairy tales and childrens books. This one, entitled Wild Flowers, is simply stunning:

Thomas Allen’s, though, are probably my favorite due mostly to their pulpy goodness. Behold, Hindsight:

 

My reaction to seeing book sculptures is always the same. First, there’s the immediate visceral reaction of “NOOOOO! How dare you defile a book, you heathen!” Which invariably mellows into “Damn, that’s cool.” Not all orphaned books can live happily on someone’s bookshelves (although Buki can attest to my ardent attempt to rescue as many as possible). Metamorphosing into something beautiful and thought-provoking is a far better fate than mouldering on a landfill.

And, because I enjoy them so, here’s another of Allen’s, entitled Chemistry:

You who never arrived in my arms…

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me - the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods -
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house -, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon, -
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And, sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening…

-Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Stephen Mitchell

Happy Poetry Month, all!

To receive a poem a day in your inbox, travel on over to Knopf Poetry.
For more info on RMR, try Poets.org.

Sweetly Gruesome or Gruesomely Sweet?

I don’t think it’s any secret that I am a fan of books with a touch of the surreal and/or fantastical. No surprise then that I enjoyed K. M. Grant’s How the Hangman Lost His Heart. It’s a fun little romp with a healthy dose of the absurd. The premise alone gave me a good chuckle: after witnessing the execution of her beloved Uncle Frank, high-born Alice decides to steal his head from Temple Bar (where it’s been put on display as a lesson to other traitors) and reunite it with his body. In doing so, she enlists the aid of Dan Skinslicer, the very executioner who took off poor Uncle Frank’s head. Unfortunately, no sooner have they made off with the head than they mislay it. Hijinks ensue as Uncle Frank’s head bounces around London pursued by Alice and Dan, who are in turn pursued by the King’s Light Dragoons. Along the way, they encounter a host of odd characters such as the dashing Capt. Hew Ffrench, nutty Faraway Granny, villainous Major Slavering, and weak-willed Lord Chief Justice Peckersniff.

Grant was able to pack quite a bit into a scant 244 pages, and the book is surprisingly rich in historic detail. The carnival-like atmosphere that accompanied 18th century executions, Bonnie Prince Charlie and the battle of Culloden, the English justice system, military life, and the Catholic/Protestant clash are peppered throughout the book, giving it just enough substance to offset the silliness of the plot. It was just the sort of breezy, engaging read I expected. What actually caught me off-guard, though, was how sweetly and genuinely touching I found the ending. I even shed a tear or two (the it’s-so-sad-but-somehow-beautiful kind, not the everyone-is-miserable-why-did-I-read-this-horrible-book kind).

But you don’t have to take my word for it. The UK branch of the Puffin Books site has an excerpt available here.

Now off you go. Visit your local library’s YA department.

Oh, Frabjous Day! Callooh! Callay!

Last night, I stayed up far later than was advisable so that I could finish Frank Beddors’ Looking Glass Wars. I simply could not stop. The final third of the book sunk its claws into me with the ferocity of the Cat. (Oh, don’t groan…I just couldn’t resist.) Beddors’ book was a fun, rollicking, and thrilling excursion through exciting realms, from the splendor of Heart Palace, to the grittiness of Victorian London, to the post-apocalyptic world of Redd’s rule. In short, a jolly good read.

WARNING: Mild Spoilers Ahead

Given that the book is almost entirely action/adventure, I was pleasantly surprised to find the character development and situational responses had a ring of authenticity and originality. At no time did I feel that the characters were one-dimensional or too wooden (with the glaring exception of Redd, but more about her momentarily). I loved Alyss’ struggles (both internal and external) upon re-entering Wonderland. Her disorientation, her sense of belonging to neither of her worlds, her determination set against her realistic doubts, her concern for those in the “real world” (how sad that it wasn’t until she had left them behind forever that she finally realized she truly loved the Liddells). Some readers may feel that all of this was handled too quickly and facilely, but I think it could have happened no other way. With Redd, the Cat, and the Cut breathing down her neck, Alyss must deal with her turmoil quickly and instinctively or literally lose her head.

The only real disappointment for me in this book was Redd. She was too coarsely and single-mindedly EEEEEVVVIILLLL to really be scary. Someone that diabolical and brutal simply must be brought down in the end. For me, truly frightening villains are those that are subtle and a bit seductive. Someone who can wheedle and charm and gather otherwise reasonable people to their dark cause. The only weapon in Redd’s arsenal was brute strength, and when it turned out that Alyss was plainly more powerful than her, that was that. Hopefully, when we next meet Redd (obviously in the sequel Seeing Redd) she will have expanded her game a bit and pose a more interesting challenge for Queen Alyss.

I’ve never really had much of an interest in Lewis Carroll’s books (apart from the delightful poem “Jabberwocky” and the charming Disney film). Now, however, my curiosity is piqued, and I may just have to add them to my enormous To Be Read list. After Seeing Redd, of course.

Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.

If I wasn’t sitting in a library right this moment, I would be SQUEALING with delight.

From Dreamland Toys comes this package of pure scifi joy:

Yes, friends, that is dread Cthulhu. Isn’t he just the Cutest? Don’t you just want to kiss his big evil forehead? And he comes complete with 2 screaming victims. But if that’s not enough carnage for you, you can purchase the supplementary My Little Victims set which boasts “realistic dismemberment action” and features a cultist, a loony bin patient, and a Librarian!

If you prefer, there is also an angry, red version. (He doesn’t look nearly as cuddly, though.)

I somehow feel I owe John Kovalic an apology for having never heard of him before now.

You’d better get one now, because you know they’re going to sell out. From Paizo.

Title translation: In his house at R’lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

Please, sir, I’d like some more

Buki just sent me a Washington Post article about one of my favorite fantasy obsessions, bento boxes. I have dreams of packing healthy, delicious lunches for the two of us, artfully displayed in lovely lacquer bentos. Of course, the reality is that I usually can’t drag myself out of bed early enough to make toast, let alone pull together an actual meal. Still, it’s nice to fantasize.

Here’s the WP article.

My favorite Bento related site is the aptly named Cooking Cute. I highly recommend it for a little culinary dreaming.

Yummy.

Following the Silver Thread

I just finished reading Rumo and His Miraculous Adventures by Walter Moers. It was… well… kinda… about… sorta… it’s really hard to explain. It’s about war and death and life and growth and adventure and intrigue and science and the unknown and, above all, love. Reading a Zamonian tale is almost like stepping into a whirlwind; there’s really no use in struggling to figure out where you’re heading. Just give up control and let Moers take you where he will, following the characters from one improbable event to another, taking every possible avenue, exploring stories within stories within stories. For the most part, I really enjoy this frenetic style of storytelling. It almost fells like a reinvention of the type of fairy tales spun by the Grimms. That being said….

This book is far more violent than I anticipated. If you’re expecting the whimsical atmosphere that permeated Moers’ previous foray into Zamonia, The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear, you should rethink your outlook. There’s a lot more death, pain, and suffering in this outing. In fact, those are really the dominant themes in Rumo. So much so that I found it a little trying at times.

Still, it’s definitely worth a read. Rumo himself is a bit static, but his supporting cast is superb. A shark grub with 14 arms and a shady past; an army of dead Yetis; an ancient, gregarious tree; a nocturnomath (of course!), a homunculus, and a magical sword inhabited by not one but two diametrically opposed souls. And so, so much more. (I haven’t even mentioned the villains!)

A Burr under his Saddle

Phillip Pullman, author of the splendid His Dark Materials series, is apparently not afraid to speak his mind. And he’s not too happy right now. He recently lambasted television broadcasters for creating consumer-driven children’s programming rather than culturally enriching and/or educational shows. He states that “the ideology of ‘profit before everything’ in children’s television is toxic”. Man, he doesn’t beat around the bush, does he?

And that’s not all he has to say. He also warns authors that fiction that doesn’t tackle moral dilemmas runs the risk of being trivial and vapid.

Here’s my favorite bit:
“Taking children’s needs seriously is not different from taking every human need seriously. It is absolutely central to a true and humane vision of the whole of life.”

Anyone who’s read His Dark Materials knows that this is a man who puts his money where his mouth is. What? You haven’t read HDM yet? What are you waiting for?! Go to your library now!

Here’s the full article.

Thanks to Bookshelves of Doom for the heads up on this story!

You’re killing me, here

Since long before I ever set foot in one of its storied museums, I have fostered a fantastical love for the Smithsonian Institute. Just the very idea of it fills me with starry-eyed science geek admiration. An enormous complex of museums, each devoted to a different area of culture and science, situated in the most beautiful part of our nation’s capital. Just a stone’s throw away from that other swoon-inducing building, the Library of Congress. But the best part of all is the mission set down by James Smithson, that it be “an establishment for the increase and diffusion of knowledge”. For us, you and me, free of charge, to help us grow as individuals.

I had an entire sequence of dreams about working for the Smithsonian in any number of capacities (depending on my interests at the time). Historian, archaeologist, biologist, geologist, librarian, archivist. Looking out over the grounds from my office in the Castle, as I work on my latest treatise or research. (Hey, it’s my fantasy, I can have an office anywhere I want.)

So, it is with all my heart that I say to the Smithsonian: BAD DOG! Seriously, I’m getting a little tired of reading about corruption, stupidity, and cowardice at the nation’s grandest intellectual institution. These past few years have been just cringe-worthy.

May 2003: The Museum of Natural History moves an exhibit of photographs of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge to a more obscure location and changes captions, just as the argument about oil drilling becomes particularly contentious. via Washington Post

June 2005: The Museum of Natural History allows a screening of a creationist documentary, despite its policy that it will not show films that are religious or political in content. via WP

April 2006: The Smithsonian’s new business arm signs an exclusive film deal with Showtime, restricting the access of filmmakers not affiliated with that company. via WP

May 17, 2007: The CEO of Smithsonian Business Ventures leaves amidst congressional inquiries into SBV business practices, including exorbitant expense accounts and sweetheart promotions. via WP

May 22, 2007: The Museum of Natural History (again!) is accused of toning down an exhibit on climate change due to the perceived political climate. via WP

I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point. (I’m also starting to make myself a little nauseous.) Now, I know it must be difficult running a ship as large and complex as the Smithsonian, especially given the forces at work in D.C. However, SI has a responsibility to the American people. So, shape up, dammit. Don’t make me come up there.

Worth a Thousand Words

Digitization initiatives are currently very hot property in the world of libraries and archives. Like many other people, I find the photographic digital projects to be the most effective and entertaining.

My newest find is the UCLA digital collection entitled Changing Times: Los Angeles in Photographs, 1920-1990. UCLA has gathered and scanned over 5000 images from the photographic archives of the Los Angeles Times and Los Angeles Daily News that reflect the history and growth of the city over a 70-year span. Seen here.

In it, you can, of course, find photographs of Hollywood’s glittering assemblage. Greta Garbo filling out her citizenship papers, Errol Flynn squiring his various wives, Henry Fonda and Jimmy Stewart enlisting for military service in WWII. Or this shot of Clara Bow on her way to court in 1930.

Beyond the Tinseltown glitz, though, are some wonderful glimpses into 20th century history. I am particularly fond of the image of women spinning rabbit fur into yarn as part of a WPA project. (1938)

And the group of oldsters getting arrested for an illegal game of penny-ante gin rummy. (1950)

You can either browse topics using a drop-down menu or search using keywords. I only wish you could search by time period. Now go on over there and waste a few hours in visual stimulation. Here’s the link again: UCLA