Year: 2007

  • Stardust (2007)

    Stardust (2007)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, August 2007) Now here’s a charming little film that will fly under most people’s radar. A hybrid of romance, fantasy and adventure (call it a fairy tale for grown-ups), Stardust takes a while to get going and isn’t without dumb plot contrivances regarding walls, distances and magic, but it keeps building as it goes on, and eventually starts hitting all of its targets. The dialogue is amusing, the actors generally go well (although Michelle Pfeiffer gets all of the attention with a rare alluring role for a woman on the verge of fifty), the special effects do their job and the entire film is powered on charm. The final act is where it all comes together, with enough swash-buckling and romance to satisfy everyone. It would have been better had it been shorter, but it’s decent enough and should reach its intended audience once it hits the DVD market. In the meantime, fantasy audiences and Neil Gaiman fans won’t regret seeing this adaptation.

  • Safe Area Gorazde, Joe Sacco

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Fantagraphics, 2000, 227 pages, C$29.95 tpb, ISBN 1-56097-470-2

    For all of our outrage at the Holocaust, at autocratic regimes, at genocides and massacres and civil wars and bloody uprisings, we’re not very good at actually caring about the ones that are currently going on. SCHINDLER’S LIST came out in 1992 and everyone vowed “never again” even as Rwanda and Yugoslavia went up in machetes and machines guns. We vowed “never again” anew as details of those conflicts made it in the mass media, and yet Darfur, Iraq, Palestine continue to make the evening news even as I type this. It’s enough to make anyone despair about whatever passes for humanity.

    And if you think that this is depressive thinking, well, you haven’t just finished reading Joe Sacco’s Safe Area Gorazde. An illustrated non-fiction account of the last days of the the Bosnian War, Sacco’s book defies convention and is different enough to still shock the reader. His unique brand of “comics journalism” appears harmless at first, but give it an inch and it will slip under your skin and remain there for a while.

    As the book open in fall 1995, Sacco is abroad the contingent of western journalists making their way to the “safe area” of Gorazde, a mostly-Muslim enclave deep inside Serbian Bosnia. Gorazde is unique in that it has held against Serb ethnic cleansing. In other words, not everyone has been killed. As the UN tries to impose a cease-fire and maintain the supply lines as they make their way through Serbian territory, Sacco interviews the people left in the bombed-out city. As the book advances, they open up and gradually tell the story of three years of war. Three years in which neighbours turned against each other, in which the city was destroyed by its former inhabitants, three years during which the West gesticulated uselessly as more and more people got killed.

    The Gorazde in this book is hollowed-out in many ways. It’s filled with craters, bullet holes, destroyed houses and burned-out cars. The bridge has a second ramshackle bridge underneath to protect pedestrians against snipers. And the people are in no better shape: having endured unimaginable horror, they are afraid of even believing that it’s over. Having seen their neighbours rise up against them once, they have no trouble imagining that it could happen again.

    The stories that Sacco tell in each chapter can range from history to absurdity to full horror. He explains the roots of the Bosnian war, but he also giggles with the “Stupid Girls” as they wish for American jeans and has problems of his own trying to make his way back outside the Serb perimeter. Gradually, the inhabitants of Gorazde tell him their own stories of survival and grief. The stories get much, much worse as the book advances. Two chapters in particular, “The First Attack” and “Total War”, are as gory as anything I’ve seen outside of Geoff Darrow: Don’t be surprised if your first impulse after reading them is to leave the book aside and go do something else for a while.

    That’s the genius of Sacco’s book; a single man at a drawing table making us see the terrible cost of a civil war in a way that is far more affecting than just a series of prose pages. Sacco doesn’t give himself a heroic role in the narrative. Indeed, he portrays himself as a short, round-faced man with prominent lips and eyes perpetually obscured by blank round glasses. Indeed, there are few pretty people in this book. But they are ordinary people, and when things go back to a new normal by the end of the book, we’re glad for them. Their friends and family may not have made it out alive, but they themselves get to sing, study and go back to a normal life. But as one of them says, “I don’t want any nice things. I don’t want a nice place or nice furniture. In the end, probably it will all be destroyed.” The Gorazde diaspora has learned the hard way and they will never forget; never forget that it has happened, and never forget that it can happen again.

    Safe Area Gorazde is not an easy book to read: not just because of the violence, but also because of the proximity of the events. This has happened less than fifteen years ago, less than a thousand kilometres away from Rome. And still we read the book and watch the movies and vow “never forget”… but we will.

  • Silent Hill (2006)

    Silent Hill (2006)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On DVD, August 2007) There are a lot of bad horror films out there, and a lot of bad videogame adaptations too, so I ask for forgiveness in thinking that a horror film adapted from a videogame wouldn’t be much better. But it is. While Silent Hill will not claim any top spots on any horror movie list, the result is a creepy and visually interesting film that a great deal more solid than it had any right to be. The visual polish of the three planes of Silent Hill does a lot to compensate for the silliness of the script, but there are other things that work in the film’s favour: The predominance of female characters, the way the film plays on creepiness a long time before the last-minute gore (for the record, when I thought “It looks as if someone’s going to be violated with barbed wire!”, I wasn’t actually thinking it would happen.) and the ambiguous ending may or may not please, but they certainly give to Silent Hill a polish that is quite unlike most other horror films. I’m really not so fond of the script (which relies on silliness to get to Silent Hill, betrays the gaming origins of the story by making the characters race for plot coupons and then loses its way in pseudo-religious claptrap shortly before the end), but with the dialogues turned down, Silent Hill is far better than you’d expect. The DVD includes a decent amount of behind-the-scene material, though it remains coys on the film’s ultimate interpretation.

  • Rush Hour 3 (2007)

    Rush Hour 3 (2007)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, August 2007) Third time definitely isn’t the charm for this aggressively irritating comedy. From the very introduction of the Chris Tucker character, he starts grating on everyone’s nerves: his one-note shtick has seldom been as exasperating as in here. Who could actually believe that such a person would remain a gainfully employed policeman? But Tucker alone could be accommodated by a much-better film. Sadly, the rest of Rush Hour 3 seems to take its lead from him: the film is clunky, charmless and even Jackie Chan (now noticeably older) can’t do much to save it. Lousy jokes (including a hammered-in version of the old “Who’s on first” routine), blunt stereotypes and ghastly coincidences are enough to make us long for the breath of fresh air that had been the first Rush Hour. But there are serious problems here, and all of them can be explained either by stupidity or laziness. Even the blatant exploitation of women in this film doesn’t betray misogyny as much as it exposes the puerile minds writing or directing the film. Dumb script, lazy direction and irritating protagonist: After that, it’s a wonder if anything of note emerges from the film. Fortunately, Noémie Lenoir is captivating. Still, if a 5’10” ebony supermodel is the only reason why a movie isn’t a complete disaster, there may be something wrong with the rest of it.

  • The Last Legion (2007)

    The Last Legion (2007)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, August 2007) There are at least two ways this film should have failed. On one hand, it tries really hard to pump up a myth-making link between ancient Rome and the Arthurian legend, with some of the pretentious twaddle that implies. On the other, it’s a decidedly low-brow affair with contrived situations, predictable plotting and by-the-numbers dialogue. The budget of the doesn’t quite reach its ambitions, and the mis-mash between said ambitions and the quasi-juvenile adventure that follows is in itself an issue. But despite all expectations, the film has an amiable disposition, and far better casting than it deserves: Colin Firth and Ben Kingsley give undeserved gravitas to the film, whereas Ashwarya Rai alone is worth ten thousand special effect shots. (No, seriously: with the help of a few good stunts-people, she kicks serious ass and even makes a play for the “dark and sultry Angelina Jolie” role. It’s a nice stretch from her usual romantic lead roles and I want more of it.) While the film keeps hearkening back to other better-made films and practically wallows in it own cheapness, it’s not unpleasant by itself and works a lot better than other more respectable movies. Certainly not worth a huge amount of trouble (except for Ashwarya Rai fans), but not a complete disaster. There’s even something oddly charming about it.

  • The Invasion (2007)

    The Invasion (2007)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, August 2007) By now, “pod people” is such a well-known expression that any film attempting another treatment of the subject has to do better than just going through the motions in order to keep our attention. Alas, <strong class=”MovieTitle”>The Invasion</strong>, the fourth cinematic take on the Body Snatchers story since 1953 is as bland as its title: the first half hour is particularly annoying as the filmmakers seem happy to re-invent the wheel all over again, seemingly unaware that we’ve seen all of this before. Things improve slightly once the invasion properly gets underway: The film shows effective signs of post-production desperation (by inter-cutting a number of cause-and-effect scenes together, for instance), ending with a series of meaningless action scenes that work well at waking up the viewers in time for the end credits. Otherwise, well, it’s full generic mode as the film lurches from one plot point to another. Occasional projectile vomiting may be good for a laugh or two, but there’s little else to enjoy here. Even the actors seem determined to out-dull the emotionless aliens — both Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig are wasted here. Thematically, perhaps the most intriguing thing about this twenty-first century take on the basic premise is a muted wistfulness for the simplicity of the “being alien” solution. Yet that theme is better expressed in one late line (“For better of for worse, we’re human again”) than an entire scene around a dinner table. “You won’t feel a thing,” promise the aliens, “you’ll wake up as if nothing had happened.” For the viewers of <strong class=”MovieTitle”>The Invasion</strong>, that’s only too true.

  • Burden of Proof, John G. Hemry

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 2004, 293 pages, C$9.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-441-01147-0

    I really enjoy being surprised by some books, and Burden of Proof is an unusual kind of surprise: A book that shouldn’t work, but does so far better than anyone could suspect. Who could expect such an enjoyable book from a surprise-free plot, a blandly heroic protagonist, superfluous SF elements and a exposition-heavy prose style?

    The lineage of the novel might have been a clue. John G. Hemry’s Burden of Proof is, after all, the second book in a series after the satisfying A Just Determination, which did similar wonders with just about the same elements. Together, the series charts the career of Paul Sinclair, junior commissioned officer in a 2100-era United States space navy. As Sinclair is tasked with shipboard judiciary duties, you can see how the series has the feel of a hybrid between legal drama, military procedural fiction and nuts-n-bolts science fiction. A number of on-line references to this series call it “JAG in space”, and while I’m not sure it’s the series’ official title, it certainly fits the plot.

    The first book succeeded despite a number of elements that should have worked against it. Its earnest prose style and likable characters did much to shore up the clumsiness of some passages and the predictable nature of the plot. Those flaws and qualities are also in Burden of Proof, where they’re joined by another growing problem: self-conscious repetition.

    Because structurally, A Just Determination and Burden of Proof are like twin brothers. Both see Sinclair as he progresses through the ranks, assists a captain’s mast session, witness an incident and volunteers for unpleasant court martial duties. The events are different (the accidental shooting of civilians in the first book; a shipboard accident in the second), but the formula stays the same. Even the characters comment that it’s just bad luck to be involved in two court martial procedures in such a short amount of time.

    And through it all, the tone also remains the same. Hemry is not interested in juiced-up Hollywood drama, daredevil characters or extraordinary threats. His series is about people doing their jobs, and doing their best to operate within the system. Paul Sinclair tries really hard to follow the rules; it’s just bad luck that people around him can’t seem to do the same. There is a basic verisimilitude to this series that is comforting no matter how pedestrian it seems: who needs alien invasions, doomsday weapons and vast space battles when a court martial for gross dereliction of duty can be so thrilling? I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: This series should reach far more than the usual military-SF crowd in how it portrays military personnel as real people faced with real problems. Even more so here than in A Just Determination, the enemy that most directly threatens Sinclair is not another country, but the incompetents on his own ship.

    Take away the almost-useless SF window-dressing, and you’ve got a tale that could be published as straight-up military fiction. The “space navy” is the sugar pill required to sell this book to SF audiences, but it holds together surprisingly well without it. Whether it’s an advantage or not is still unclear to me at this point, but I can certainly testify that the book as a whole is utterly pleasant to read regardless of genre. Despite the linear plot, the cheap twists (including an investigating officer with a huge conflict of interest) and the repeated overuse of Sinclair’s internal monologue, Burden of Proof is a smooth piece of fiction. Far smoother than anyone would expect given all of the elements running against it. And yet, despite my growing conviction that this series is going to run its concept into the ground, I’m on board for at least the next two volumes in the series.

    We’ll see if the trend continues, or even improves.

    [September 2007: I wasn’t so fond of Rule of Evidence, the third volume in the series, which really seemed to recycle everything all over again to little effect. Once again, the lack of basic monitoring equipment puts all characters in trouble, and good old Paul Sinclair has to rescue the situation. It’s still very readable, but the ritualized plot structure starts to grate.]

    [October 2007: Interestingly enough, the fourth volume, Against all Enemies, is a neat wrap-up to this first phase of Paul Sinclair’s career as he leaves the USS Michaelson at the end of his tour of duty. The plot isn’t necessarily less of a formula, but there’s a real sense of growth and evolution here, in addition to the series’ usual strengths. There may or may not be any further volumes in the series (sales will determine that), but any fifth volume will likely be very different from the first four. In the meantime, the series as a whole is an interesting hybrid of legal/military/SF thriller, and it’s worth a look even given the third-volume ennui.]

  • The Bourne Ultimatum (2007)

    The Bourne Ultimatum (2007)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (In theaters, August 2007) This third instalment in the relatively more realistic action/espionage Bourne series is, all things considered, both more exciting and more interesting that either of the previous instalments. Sure, it’s repetitive and shameless in how it allows Bourne to be an invulnerable superhero. Sure, Paul Greengrass’s constantly moving-and-cutting technique often leeches coherency out of his action sequences. Sure, the plot has more holes than it can comfortably sustain. But there’s a real relevance to the issues discussed here for the third time: We’re asked to face the extent at which we must pursue victory, and the means necessary to do so. What happens when an indifferent system allows bad apples to gain power? For all of its cynicism and “realism”, this trilogy concludes on an odd note of optimism, as it shows that individual people can take a stand and make a difference. But that’s really icing on the cake, because the most distinctive appeal of The Bourne Ultimatum is in its three big action sequences in London, Tangier and New York. The plot is really an excuse to get from one to the other, and all three of them are very different. The London sequence is a nightmare of surveillance technology used indiscriminately; Tangier takes us to the confusing chaos of the third world; while New York is Bourne smash-em-up in America’s front yard. Even the frustration of the constantly moving camera can’t shake the competent thrills of these three sequences. Even Matt Damon is not too bad. It may have taken a while, but I’ve finally seen a Bourne movie I could enjoy.

  • Beverly Hills Cop II (1987)

    Beverly Hills Cop II (1987)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Second viewing, On DVD, August 2007) More action, more comedy, more snazzy visuals! This second helping of Axel Foley has the added bonus of Tony Scott at the helm, some fair action sequences and a number of intriguing visuals (though Scott would more than top himself later on), but the self-awareness of the cast and crew often gets annoying: Eddie Murphy’s fast-talking riffs can deaden the film fast, and the improvised dialogue between the actors has a loose quality that’s perceptibly less interesting than scripted dialogue would be. Though the plot still doesn’t make much sense twenty years later, the rest of the film is good enough to be seen again.

  • A Darkness More Than Night, Michael Connelly

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Warner, 2001, 470 pages, C$10.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-446-66790-0

    At first glance, A Darkness More Than Night looks like a piece of stunt writing, the kind of concept that afflicts writers in mid-career as they consolidate their back list and purchase a beach house: A glorious novel facing off one protagonist against another! Harry Bosch vs Terry McCaleb! A detective extravaganza, a criminal spectacle, now available for C$10.99!

    Fortunately, there’s a lot more to it than simply a grand face-off between Connelly’s protagonists. A Darkness More Than Night ends up being one of the best examinations of Harry Bosch so far, as seen by a third party who also has our sympathies.

    Terry McCaleb is, of course, the star of Blood Work, a previous Connelly novel that has also become a well-known film miscasting Clint Eastwood in the title role. (The written McCaleb may be a fragile heart transplant recipient, but he’s in his mid-forties at best.) As A Darkness More Than Night begins, his retirement is interrupted by an odd request from an old ex-colleague: Could he take a look at a bizarre unsolved case? Just a look, he’s promised, just his initial impressions…

    Of course, it’s never so simple. McCaleb may be retired, but the instincts that made of him such a superb criminal profiler haven’t gone away, and tracking down the mysteries of the murder end up being one of his biggest thrills in years. Alas, all the clues soon point to a certain Harry Bosch, currently in the news as the star prosecution witness of a high-profile murder trial…

    Soon enough, McCaleb and Bosch trade chapters in this two-ring circus of a crime novel. Has Bosch finally flipped out and killed a particularly troublesome criminal? Will McCaleb defy his wife, the police hierarchy and even the reader’s wishes in getting to the end of the case? As with most Connelly stories, there are less coincidences here than it may appear at first glance, and the pleasure of the novel isn’t in figuring out if Bosch did it at much as seeing Connelly tell the real story.

    The big innovation here, of course, is seeing Bosch through the eyes of another character. McCaleb is more intelligent than Bosch, but not as smart. The two detectives have different styles, and using McCaleb’s power of intellectual detection against a street-savvy character like Bosch can provide illumination for both. Bosch, seen from the outside, is a far scarier man than we’re used to. We know enough about his past that the idea of him killing a suspect isn’t so far-fetched… and Connelly does his best to play on this ambiguity. McCaleb’s character also emerges from the novel as a stronger, more interesting character. Untied from the plot mechanics of Blood Work, he ends up being a formidable investigator on his own.

    But as it happens, A Darkness More Than Night is more than the union of Blood Works with the rest of the Bosch story line: it ends up tying together all of the Connelly oeuvre so far: Connelly faithfuls will be rewarded by a secondary role for The Poet‘s Jack McEvoy and by a repeated wink to Void Moon‘s Thelma Kibble. The Connollyverse is in full formation, and it wouldn’t be surprising to see all of those characters work together again at some point.

    As usual, all of the qualities of Connelly’s fiction are to be found here: limpid prose, sympathetic characters, exceptional details, an excellent sense of Los Angeles’ fun-house perceptions and a twisty accumulation of revelations and counter-revelations.

    After the slight side-step of Void Moon, it’s good to see Connelly tackle another full-blown police procedural with such style and panache. The idea of using a character to investigate another proves to be a very clever idea and a triumphant return to form for Connelly. Meanwhile, my Michael Connelly Reading project continues, and there’s still not a bad book in the series so far.

  • Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Raincoast, 2007, 607 pages, C$45.00 hc, ISBN 978-1-551-92976-7

    I’m going to miss the little wizard.

    Oh, I’ve never been much of a Potterphile: I’ve been quite happy to read the books right after the movie adaptations come out, and if I have generally enjoyed the tales so far, I’ve left to my siblings the pleasure of obsessing about the series and going out to the midnight events celebrating the release of the series. I probably won’t read the last book until the release of the film sometimes in 2009-2010.

    But sometimes, you don’t need to read a book in order to review it. Regarding Harry Potter 7, I have gleefully spoiled myself rotten, starting by reading the leaked epilogue and going on to query people who have read the book as well as reading tons of spoilerrific discussions. I can tell you who dies, who married who and the reasons why the epilogue may or may not please readers. I may not have read the series so far, but I certainly know where it’s going, and it doesn’t take much more than that to bloviate about the series.

    So, first up: That seventh volume pretty much goes through the expected motions, doesn’t it? There’s little in here that’s genuinely shocking. The generally amiable tone of the series is darkened but preserved, and if a few minor characters die, well, it’s just to show that Rowling has raised the stakes a bit. Of the main characters, there’s little surprise in who dies and who ends up snogging who. Though I’m disappointed to learn that my long-awaited Harry/Draco fist-fight never happens, the rest is pretty much by the numbers, up to and including the not-really-murder of You-Know-Who by You-Know-Who-Else.

    As for the epilogue, well, I’m usually the last one to complain about heteronormativity, but using “they all got married” as a shorthand for “they lived happily ever after” has always struck me as a bit easy. It’s even worse considering that just about everyone marries people they met in high school: can you imagine being stuck in a universe where that was true? The English wizard world is a bit inbred, isn’t it? Goodness forbid Harry should find a hot non-British witch to woo if he is to maintain the purity of English wizardry. (And what’s up with Cho’s puff-like disappearance from the series? Oh, OK, never mind.)

    But generally speaking, it looks as if that seventh volume is what fans expected, so that’s that.

    It may be more fun to discuss the series’ lasting impact. The Potter series has been a publishing phenomenon beyond measure: It was an experience to go though Ottawa’s biggest bookstore on the eve of Volume Seven’s launch to find the store re-done in Potter regalia, along with a bunch of customers and employees dressed up for the occasion. “This feels like a science-fiction convention”, I said to the cashier who seemed to understand what I was talking about.

    Trying to explain why the series took off involves a conjunction of events and narrative hooks that may not be repeatable. The universality of the series’s premise is wonderful, and so was its ability to expand in a world that was much more complete than the first book suggested. (Though I’d love to study the changes made mid-way through the series.) The vast cast of characters meant that there was something for everyone, and the evolving maturity of the series also meant that the book could appeal to kids as they grew older.

    Ironically, I think that “for the kids” label of the series explained why it reached so many people. The clear prose presented no reading challenge, and the parents could hop along the series alongside the kids. More broadly speaking, I think that the “you know, for the kids” appeal of the Harry Potter universe freed parents to enjoy the fantasy trapping without self-consciousness. Beyond the habitual fantasy readers, adults could just show up on the bus or at the office with the latest Potter book and no one batted an eye. There’s probably a lesson in there for expanding the fantasy readership, but I don’t think anyone inside the SF&F community paid any attention to what it was.

    I’m also wondering if the Potter Craze was well-timed alongside the Lord of the Ring mania of 2001-2003, or the Star Wars Episodes craziness of 1999-2003. More than anything else, I keep hoping that something will manage to catch similar broad attention. Potter may have been the 800-pound gorilla in the fantasy field, but he’s been useful in decrazifying the image of the average fantasy reader. Yes, it’s “for the kids”, but you won’t find too many people saying that it was “just for kids”. As the wonderfully cool concept of people lining up at midnight to buy a fantasy book recedes in the rear-view mirror of 2007, I just realize again that I’ll miss the little wizard.

  • Crooked Little Vein, Warren Ellis

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Morrow, 2007, 280 pages, C$27.95 hc, ISBN 978-0-06-072393-4

    It’s been a long time since I’ve read Warren Ellis’ blog, but it had one feature that I remember clearly. Once every few days, a link called “Don’t click here!” would appear. These days, “Don’t click” is usually an invitation to see how jaded you can be. Thanks to the Internet, everyone now think that they’ve seen more of human perversion than the Marquis de Sade himself. Well, Warren Ellis meant it when he tells people not to click. Goatse is mere fluffy comfort compared to what he proposed under those links. Most people learned quickly that if Warren Ellis said not to click, you didn’t click.

    For more than a decade, Ellis has written almost exclusively for comic books, racking such hits as Transmetropolitan and becoming something of a net.personality thanks to his work and an active on-line presence. His prose fiction debut, Crooked Little Vein, was eagerly anticipated. Would the book live up to the hype?

    I can probably answer that question with two words: Godzilla Bukkake.

    • If you don’t know those words, Warren Ellis isn’t for you, and I’m not the one who’s going to explain what they mean. (Also: You’ll regret knowing. Don’t click!)
    • If you know those words and recoil at the thought that they could be combined, Warren Ellis and Crooked Little Vein aren’t for you. But at least you already know that.
    • If you know those words and wonder (maybe queasily) how they could follow one another, get Crooked Little Vein and turn to chapter 4. Your questions will be answered. In detail.
    • If you’re hollering and clapping “Godzilla Bukkake! Hell, yeah!”, you probably read the novel before I did. (Also; please stay at some distance until I get to know you better.)

    To see a pope of pop perversion like Ellis turn to novel-length fiction is fascinating on many levels: How will his sensibilities adapt to prose? How will he handle the structural demands of a novel relative to comics? Would be he able to sustain a narrative over hundreds of pages? (Albeit barely: I’d be surprised if the book goes much longer than 50,000 words.)

    The answer is surprising in its cleverness. First, Ellis takes on a standard boilerplate noir template to kick off the action: His narrator is a hard-boiled Private Investigator who’s asked to find an important national relic. Michael McGill is a protagonist living out of his time: He may be in 2006, but he truly belongs to the classical pulp era. His ability to attract the weirdest elements of contemporary society is a handy excuse for Ellis to trot out the worst of what he can find on the Internet, but it also sets up the novel’s examination of what’s weird. The stated assumption, at least at the beginning of the narrative, is that America has lost its way. That the ills of American society are caused by permissiveness and encouraged by the broad availability of amoral depictions.

    But from this hard-boiled premise, Ellis turns to the road novel as inspiration. Chapter by chapter, McGill heads west from New York to (inevitably) Los Angeles. Every step along the way, he meets richer and more amoral characters. From Godzilla Bukkake, we go to genital saline injections, naked animal wrestling, Jesus-themed sex toys and even worse. I would say that delicate natures should abstain, but that should be obvious by now. But it also minimizes the fact that the novel is very funny. McGill’s narration is impeccable, and his mixture of world-weariness and “you’ve got to be kidding me” bewilderment at what he sees is the perfect middle ground for the readers.

    What doesn’t work so well, as the book advances, is the false conflict between America’ “new perversion” and McGill’s so-called conservatism, as given voice by arguments between McGill and the female side-kick that follows him along his trip through darkest America. Ellis is too obviously fond of off-beat weirdness to be truly impartial in the matter, and the two or three plot beats that depend on McGill being an old-fashioned moral beacon in face of contrary evidence don’t really work. The conclusion is entirely expected: Much like Jerry Springer’s series is surprisingly moral under the freak show veneer, so is Crooked Little Vein once you accept the idea that unusual acts between consensual adults can be no one else’s business. It’s interesting to see, late in the book, where Ellis ends up drawing the line between good and bad behaviour. Morality is about people being hurt, not about people being vicariously shocked or offended.

    But if trying to fit Ellis’ novel in an analysis of contemporary morality may be fun for budding sociologists, it’s not where the true worth of the novel truly lies: Crooked Little Vein is the type of vibrant little novel made for the comic-book generation, a short trip through a fun-house world that first wants to entertain its target audience. I have already met people who couldn’t finish the novel, and that’s OK: Much like more of Ellis’ work so far, Crooked Little Vein is bound to offend (or disgust) just about every reader at some point. It’s hardly perfect as a sustained narrative (the episodic structure is transparent, and some passages feel forced into the story, such as the plane ride with Falconer in Chapter 42), but it’s a lightning-fast read and a delicious summer treat for jaded readers.

    Just make sure that you really want to “Click here”.

    Not a review

  • A Just Determination, John G. Hemry

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Ace, 2003, 259 pages, C$9.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-441-01052-0

    In this cheery twenty-first century where everyone’s interests are being thrown in a swirling melting pot, it may be not be a surprise to find authors attempting unusual genre combinations. Military Science-Fiction has long been a staple, but what about judicial military SF? In this first volume in the “JAG in Space” series, John G. Hemry ends up writing an unambitious, but remarkably enjoyable hybrid of three flavours that, all things considered, go well together.

    A Just Determination begins in 2099, just as newly-minted Ensign Paul Sinclair steps upon the USS Michaelson, a warship (“Long Endurance Cruiser”) protecting U.S. interests in space. As you would expect from the first book in a military SF series, the narrative first dedicates itself to the introduction of the characters, from protagonist Sinclair himself, to the chain of command above him and the other members of the Michaelson. There are a lot of characters, so the time it takes to introduce them all isn’t insignificant. It takes chapters before the action properly starts, but that’s not a big problem: Hemry’s clear prose is readable enough, and Sinclair’s early trials in space are the kind of stuff that will quickly charm readers.

    But the emphasis of the series is different from that of most military SF novel. This “Novel of Universal Law” is far more interested in the mechanics of a military spaceship than in big action scenes or cheap political points. Hemry is a career military officer, and it shows: His depiction of military minds and protocols is surprisingly engaging, and should appeal to readers of all political orientations. As Sinclair learns how to do his job (which includes an unwelcome judiciary dimension, as he’s designated the ship’s lone legal officer) and as the minutia of shipboard life is explained, it feels as if we’re given a tour of life in the military.

    It’s no accident if the Science Fiction angle ends up being the weakest of A Just Determination‘s blending of genres. The USS Michaelson is very obviously a United States warship, which not only provides a solid grounding for readers, but also enables Hemry to use established US naval traditions and procedures as a given for his action. You could easily take the bones of this novel and re-cast them in a current-day technothriller without unduly harming it.

    On the other hand, the military and legal aspects of the novel are non-removable, especially when the main plot of the novel kicks in: During patrol, the Michaelson ends up firing on an unarmed research vessel from “the other side”. The captain of the ship is soon slated for a court-martial, leaving Sinclair to contemplate whether this is a fair trial, or a simple scapegoating exercise. Despite his personal dislike of the man, will Sinclair be able to do his duty and speak the truth?

    If that sounds like a dull and low-stakes plot, you’re not entirely mistaken: A Just Determination is not a novel of intricate twists and sudden revelations. The events unfold evenly, at an expected pace that will shock no one. This is a procedural novel, maybe even a didactic one: Hemry’s goal seems to be to explain why military procedures are the way they are, and find where personal responsibility lies in the grey areas where no one is a hero or a villain. Readers used to more high-octane action may balk, but they’re going themselves a disservice: Hemry’s first “JAG in Space” volume is a compulsively readable, even charming piece of pure military fiction. The characters are well handled, the prose is clean and the procedural approach to military justice leads to some terrific courtroom sequences.

    While it’s true that some characters are too quickly sketched, or that Sinclair’s internal narration is often too one-the-nose, this has little impact of the novel’s overall effect. A Just Determination‘s simple plot allows Hemry to focus his message and wrap it up in a judicious amount of characterization. Readers who think they’ve given up on military fiction may want to take a look at this one: above-average verisimilitude is a welcome breath of fresh air after far too many alien-shoot’em-up tripe. Though I started the series with only the first two volumes in hand, I quickly went out and purchased the third and fourth volumes. Stay tuned for the next adventures of Paul Sinclair, military lawyer in spaaace!

  • Dexta, C.J. Ryan

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Bantam Spectra, 2005, 451 pages, C$10.99 mmpb, ISBN 0-553-58776-5

    It’s summer and I’m mellow, and that just may be the only reason why I’m still amused by C.J. Ryan’s generally deplorable Dexta. Some books are mesmerizing because it’s hard to believe how ludicrous they are, and Dexta falls squarely in that category. I suspect that the story of how that book was purchased, edited and marketed by Bantam Spectra is a lot more interesting than Dexta itself.

    Where to start? Oh, I know: Let’s first tackle the irony of purchasing this book.

    You see, I’ve been feeling guilty of not reading enough female authors. I thought I’d make an effort and so purchased two unknown SF novels by an equally unknown “C.J. Ryan”. In Science Fiction and Fantasy, first initials are often a reliable indicator of female authors: From C.J Cherryh to J.K. Rowling, many female authors were/are advised to use initials as so to “not scare off the boys”. I assumed that this would be the same and thought I’d bravely do my part to support SF written by women.

    How hilariously wrong this would turn out to be.

    Dexta takes place in a universe a thousand years in the future, at a time where the human empire reigns supreme over thousands of planets. Naturally, such machinery of government requires a bureaucracy, and it’s the lower rungs of the Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs (Dexta) that we find our heroine, Gloria VanDeen. As the manager of a handful of planets, it’s her job to solve the problem when extraterrestrial natives take up arms against their human masters.

    So far, so dull: there isn’t much here to distinguish the premise from countless other mid-list SF novels. One would think that a twenty-first century SF novel with this conventional starting point would use it as a pedestal from which to question the assumptions of imperialism, or as a framework on which to hang the weirdness of a very different future. But I don’t think anyone could have predicted where C.J. Ryan would take this novel. Because within pages, it’s clear that Dexta has taken a turn for the bizarre.

    There’s the power-fantasy element, for instance. Not only is Gloria VanDeen a living DNA-sculpted goddess (perfect “coffee with a little cream” skin, “gracefully flowing blond tresses the colour of honey”, “intense sky-blue” eyes, “high and broad” cheekbones, etc. [all P.16]), but she is the emperor’s ex-wife and is succeeding brilliantly in Dexta despite a rough first year.

    How rough? That’s where Dexta really dives into bizarro-land. As described in the novel, Dexta’s environment is so competitive that its inner rules allow for rough play and aggression at the lower levels of its hierarchy. Quoting the book’s logic, “sexual harassment and intimidation were simply part of the game at Dexta” [P.53] Chapter 4 describes an organization so fundamentally dysfunctional that it suggests an elaborate satire: “Sleeping with a superior at Dexta was a normal and accepted part of life… there were no formal rules governing sex at Dexta, but everyone knew what was expected.” [P.58] There is some thin justification about how Dexta discourages its lower-level employees from forming stable relationships with people outside Dexta, but the damage is done: There’s no way such an organization (one financed with public money, no less) could hope to exist a long time.

    Described like this, from afar, this could be satire… if only it was written as such. There is a very long sequence describing the “Dexta Bestiary” [P.49-53] that feels like an inner-office joke taken too far and then taken seriously for the rest of the novel. What little we get in term of self-awareness about Dexta’s dysfunction comes very late in the novel, as the heroine is basically told “ha-ha, you passed our hazing rituals!” Every character’s mention is tagged with his or her level within the Dexta Bureaucracy, which is obviously very important in the scheme of things. Chapter 4 sets up a particular gag: “Assault was forbidden against either a superior or a subordinate. But staffers at the same level could and often did resolve disputes through sheer force. [P.51] You won’t be surprised to learn that it lead to a good old-fashioned cat-fight in Chapter 20: “You’re a Thirteen, I’m a Thirteen… if we can’t resolve our differences calmly and rationally, Dexta has a time-honoured alternative” [P.316].

    But that’s small potatoes compared to the fascination that the author seems to have for describing what little clothing Gloria chooses to wear. It may seem like an exaggeration to say that her physical appearance or wardrobe is lauded every five pages, but let me just go through pages 100-120:

    • “[He] noticed Gloria. Her ran his eyes over her quickly.” [p.103]
    • “…a wide, plunging neckline that left her breast almost completely uncovered”. [p.105],
    • “Ah, ladies, he cried, you look exquisite.” [P.106]
    • “…those tits of yours won’t get me babbling the way they did with young Olivera.” [p.109],
    • “Standing before the mirror, she pulled some fabric farther apart, completely exposing her nipples.” [P.113]
    • “Gloria… I appreciate your interest, and under any other circumstances, I would appreciate the excellent view of your breasts” [P.114]
    • “She was wearing a loose, nearly transparent white shirt, unbuttoned and knotted at the waist, and… denim blue jeans. Gloria’s were tight and rode low on her hips, a fetching five inches below her navel.” [P.117]

    Throughout the novel, we’re told all about her outfits, her hair, her curves, the way he adjust her clothes to be nearly transparent, or how she makes strategic use of her pubic hair. I have quotes for that too: “She looked at herself in the closet mirror and saw that a single stray pubic hair was curling over the top of her skirt, golden and obvious against her cocoa-toned flesh. She rather liked the effect.” [P.60] Later: “Her blond pubic delta at the junction of her long, silken thighs, and her round, firm breasts were entirely uncovered. She stood before him and let him get as good a look as he wanted.” [P.324]

    The rare passages that aren’t from Gloria’s point of view are no better. Later in the book, a superior reads one of her memos and is impressed that “Her brains were obviously as good as her breasts” [P.374] A few pages later, the emperor himself gravely remarks “Did you see her? Did you see those tits of hers? How in hell can I compete with that?” [P.382]

    Hurrah for Gloria VanDeen, symbol of female empowerment.

    It may be meant as a Statement of some sort, but it frankly comes across as puerile and embarrassing. There’s a Mary-Sueish vibe to Gloria that gets stronger as the novel unfolds, along with an overall feel of creepy bafflement. Despite living in a society without nudity or sex taboos, Dexta’s male characters seem easily swayed by an attractive woman showing some skin and hinting at further carnal knowledge. It’s not only insulting: it’s bad writing and lazy plotting. Once, just once, I would have liked Gloria to face down a gay or happily married man who would just look at her and say “lady, you ain’t all
    that.”

    Throughout, Dexta teeters on the edge of being soft-core SF sex novel. Gloria has a fling with the emperor (her ex-husband), reflects on the many people she’s had to sleep with at Dexta, has a relationship with a handsome outdoors type, shows her body as a social favour to keep up the morale of the troops [P.355] and entraps an enemy by soliciting date rape. (“Gloria cried out involuntarily as he reached the blond tangle of her pubic mound. She felt his wet, slick tongue on her, and then his short, pudgy fingers, stroking and probing and finally penetrating her.” [P.328]) A powerful aphrodisiac is a key plot driver on both the meta and the micro level. Throughout the novel and despite the so-called permissiveness of Gloria’s universe, “having sex with” is a crude and constant shorthand for the fact that two characters have a strong relationship of some sort. Usually a relationship that works to one person’s advantage, or can be exploited by a third party.

    It gets better, or worse, late in the novel as Gloria arranges for storms to be transported around the planet. Whenever the torrential rain starts falling… she strips down naked and starts a good-natured mud fight with her female assistant in front of soldiers: “Gloria brought Petra down with a Qatsima move and both of them were soon rolling around in a puddle, shrieking and giggling madly. Gloria gained her vengeance, ripping Petra’s clothes off as the delighted Marines watched.” [P.360] I swear I’m not making any of this up, nor stealing from porn movie script. (For one thing, there are no lipstick lesbians here despite the girl-on-girl mud-wrestling: the vast majority of the actual or implied sexual relationships in Dexta are strictly heterosexual. It could be all of them, but I’m not re-reading the entire book to check.) A plot twist in the last few pages of the book has Gloria rewarded for refusing to sleep with a superior, but by that point we know what this novel is really about.

    So, soft-core porn or not? The excerpt speak for themselves, but if Dexta wanted to be a naughty care-free sex satire, it keeps misplaying in tone: As mentioned above, Dexta is heavy on coerced sexual relations, twisted power dynamics, attempted rape and a general feeling of distastefulness. Enough to darken any fun (or, heck, any arousal) one could get from the constant sexual content of the book.

    It’s hard to get a naughty thrill out of a novel that reads as if it came out of a cesspool of dominance power games. Dexta is a rude awakening for those who think that SF has become more sexually mature over the past few years: part of it read like adolescent fantasies, while others just make one reach for soap and a hard brush. Say, has anyone seen John Norman shopping a new Gor novel around lately?

    The emphasis on really stupid plot points is enough to make us think that yes this may be meant as a serious SF adventure novel. The background never holds up to scrutiny, and the details give the impression of a fake lazy future with no internal coherency. For instance: The native rebellion, set a thousand years in the future on a planet far away, relies on good old AK-47s. Manhattan/America is still the centre of human civilization. There are mentions of a brand-new religion called Spiritism that reaches “more than 70 percent of the Empire’s human population” despite doubts regarding its origin. But, hey, why worry since it has no nudity taboo and “no one had fought a religious war on Earth for more than a thousand years.” [P.32] Handy!

    And ooh, don’t get me started on the complete lack of perspective on the colonial imperialism issue, or the way the extraterrestrial natives are described as being small, furry, primitive, stupid and smelly. Just don’t.

    Other issues abound, but I’ll make an even bigger fool of myself if I kept treating this novel like a colourful piñata of silly treats. I’m sure that a Dexta fan, somewhere, can argue at length about how this isn’t meant to be taken seriously, shouldn’t be considered as anything but “good fun” and really doesn’t try to describe humanity as we know it. They’ll have a harder time convincing me that the novel is conventionally interesting: The obvious plot peters out and struggles to reach the finishing line. Without the naughty material, there wouldn’t be much to distinguish this book from countless other manuscripts languishing in the slush-pile.

    So that’ll do to explain why, despite enormous misgivings regarding just about every aspect of Dexta, I’ll hold off on calls for mass bonfires. It certainly had its entertainment value… though maybe not in the way that the author intended. On the other hand, Bantam Spectra has dirtied its hands by touching this novel: Dexta wouldn’t have been surprising as a self-published novel, but coming from what’s still known as a major publishing house, it’s an embarrassment. Who acquired this book? Who edited it? Who thought it would reflect well on the brand of the Rooster? I keep feeling there’s a heck of a story under the surface, a Big Name under the shadows or else an intricate joke that I can’t grasp at the moment. Did it, at the very least, sell?

    No one will be surprised to learn that C.J. Ryan was (and is still, two years later) a pseudonym for, and I quote from randomhouse.com, “an author who lives and works in Philadelphia” with no further detail except the added gender-specific note that 2007’s Burdens of Empire “is his fourth science fiction novel.” In a way, I’m happy for Ryan’s true name to remain shrouded in mystery. This way, we can project our own wishes on “his” identity, from a young inexperienced macho geek to a frustrated middle-aged government bureaucrat to a skilled feminist writer brilliantly undermining the clichés of misogynistic SF. I don’t know who C.J. Ryan is, and I’m not sure I want to know —though those things eventually come out sooner or later, often to everyone’s embarrassment.

    [August 2007: Glorious Treason, the sequel, really isn’t much better. It improves nothing (except for a lighter touch on the Dexta bestiary metaphors) and feels a lot uglier. It lazily re-uses a Gold Rush theme and setting without bothering to add SF elements, and barely delivers the outline of a thriller plot. On the other hand, almost all of the naughtiness of the book is tainted with either coercion or manipulation, leaving little harmless fun. The violence is harsher, the scenes generally duller and this time we know exactly what C.J. Ryan is all about… Frankly, there’s little to recommend here, and it will take a while before I even want to touch another Ryan novel.]

  • The Acme Novelty Library, Chris Ware

    ByChristian Sauvé Book Review

    Pantheon, 2005, 110 pages, C$39.95 hc, ISBN 0-375-42295-1

    This may have been one of the most depressing books I’ve ever read.

    Anyone who’s seriously interested in comic books has known that the medium isn’t limited to happy happy stories. Many of the acknowledged classics of the genre, from Maus to Watchmen, have been grim and uncompromising. But few people can be as hilariously dark as Chris Ware and his ACME Novelty Library, and this collection shows why.

    There are, simply put, no heroes in Ware’s work. Every character is revealed to be weak, doomed, deluded or pathetic. Much like Robert Crumb’s work at its most unflinching, Ware has made it his mission to unbolt the little lies that we tell about ourselves. The effect for readers can be a lot like Douglas Adams’ Total Perspective Vortex, and just as shattering. Everyone sucks, and that’s life.

    In its blandest form, The Acme Novelty Library is a repackaged collection of Ware’s work. (Actually, its full title is The Acme Novelty Library Final Report to Shareholders and Rainy Day Saturday Afternoon Fun Book) Since the artist’s material appears in a variety of formats and venues, this doesn’t necessarily mean that the book will feel like a collection of already-seen pieces: if you don’t faithfully buy every issue of the “Acme Novelty Library” periodical (not necessarily available at your neighbourhood comic book shop), chances are that most of the material will be original to most readers. Better yet: Ware has adapted the material in the book, making it feel like a more unified creation.

    Not enough good things can be said about the design of the book. Produced as an oversized “poster-book” hardcover, The Acme Novelty Library is beautifully packaged, leaving little detail to chance. Every aspect of the physical object has been pored over: It features a gilded cover, a comic strip on the edge of the book, another one on the back of the (glued) bandoleer, full colour pages, a glow-in-the-dark astronomical chart as well as cut-and-paste paper-craft projects. Every single page has been filled with material, requiring some deft physical manipulation to twist one’s way through reading all of the content. Ware is a perfectionist’s perfectionist, and the care with which he has designed the book is obvious throughout. Much like McSweeney’s 13, also designed by Ware, The Acme Novelty Library is sure to become a standout piece of show-and-tell whenever guests come over to take a look at your library.

    Whether you’ll let them read the book is another matter. People undergoing depressions, comic fansboys and fragile natures may want to stay well away from The Acme Novelty Library until they feel better about life, the universe and everything else. Every single character in the book’s numerous strips is repelled, deluded or fated to a lonely death. (Loneliness is a big theme for Ware; so is death. Lonely deaths inevitably follow.) Despite the awe-inspiring layout of some pages (just have a look at the “Big Tex” strips on page 33 and 40), there’s a profound sense of misery here. Characters do nasty things to each other, are fated to repeat their failures, and can’t communicate effectively with each other. It’s easy to pinpoint unmarried obsessive comic-book collector “Chester Brown” as the saddest character of the lot, but being married and mature is not much better in Ware’s view of the world: The “Chalky White” strip on page 97 is heart-breaking in how it shows how even the best-natured characters can be misunderstood by the ones they love. Even moronic “Big Tex” is doomed to an inglorious end, surrounded by hostile family members and fated to a vegetative state. And that’s if you do have family members: most of Ware’s characters are stuck alone in joyless surroundings, often self-exiled away from the rest of the world. It doesn’t take much to identify with them. I may not be a comic-book collector, but am I necessarily more aware of my place in the world than Chester Brown’s deluded obsessiveness with useless trinkets? Don’t answer that.

    Ironically, some of the funniest material in the book appears in written format, as satirical advertisement tearing down consumerism, American foreign policy or just plain obsessive collecting. There’s a vivid, chameleon-like quality to Ware’s writing. It’s no exaggeration that he packs more funny text in one oversize page than other writers manage to cram in entire prose chapters. My advice: Read the text whenever the comics get too depressing.

    And yet, The Acme Novelty Library isn’t a dreary piece of work. Wickedly funny, strongly heartfelt despite what initially looks like a mechanical drawing style, it pushes back the limits of what we expect comics to do, and packs an emotional wallop. I’ll gladly lend you my copy… and provide my phone number in case you need to talk to someone.

    [August 2007: As improbable as it may seem, Jimmy Corrigan, the Smartest Boy on Earth is even more depressing than The Acme Novelty Library. Far less amusing, it’s a 300+ pages exploration of loneliness and despair, set against four generations of losers. It’s enough to make you consider suicide, if only for the characters of the book. In some ways, Jimmy Corrigan is pure genius: it tackles issues seldom confronted and nails them with sharp accuracy. In other ways, it’s like being stuck in someone else’s nightmare for a few hours. The few sympathetic characters are shunted away, and even the two glimmers of hope at the end of the book are carefully hidden under uncut pages. Even the flow of the art seems deliberately clunky, which I blame on either the original publication constraints of the story, or a willingness to deliberately trip the reader. At least the typical design touches so characteristic of Ware’s work are everywhere to be found, and add a bit of interest to a profoundly unpleasant experience. It’s a piece of art all right; but it certainly won’t please everyone.]