I guess one of the drawbacks to doing nothing with your life is that you’re never quite sure when you’ve accomplished it.
– Jonathan Tropper
Plan B
Category: News/Misc. Page 240 of 242
Subject A:Renowned curator Jacques Saunière staggered through the vaulted archway of the museum’s Grand Gallery. He lunged for the nearest painting he could see, a Carravagio. Grabbing the gilded frame, the seventy-three-year-old man heaved the masterpiece toward himself until it tore from the wall and Saunière collapsed backward in a heap beneath the canvas.
Subject B:In the history of the world there have been lots of onces and lots of times, and every time has had a once upon it. most people will tell you that the once upon a time happened in a land far, far away, but it really depends on where you are. The once upon a time may have been just outside your back door. It may have been beneath your very feet. It might not have been in a land at all but deep in the sea’s belly or bobbing around on its back.
One of these is the first paragraph of a “Juvenile” novel that will never make the author famous. One of these is from a record-selling novel that received mega-press. One is imaginative, clever; the other seems paint-by-numbers. One is something I wish I could write; the other I could whip off in a few minutes.
In short, one is good. The other, not.
Poor, poor William Gibson. 
It apparently wasn’t enough for Hollywood to take his groundbreaking short story, “Johnny Mnemonic,” and turn it into 1995’s Keanu Reeves’ nightmare. Nope.
Today’s SciFi Wire reports:
Hayden Christensen (Jumper) may star in a proposed film based on William Gibson’s seminal cyberpunk novel Neuromancer.
Citing an anonymous source, the site reported that Christensen would play Case,the hacker at the center of the story.
Christensen–that automaton that made people think, “You know, that Jake Lloyd wasn’t such a bad little actor…”–playing Case??!? It’s just wrong. 
Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
Next thing I’ll be reading that Larry the Cable Guy has been cast as Ender Wiggin…
I’ve wanted to read Neil Gaiman’s novels for quite some time now–really enjoyed the first edition of Don’t Panic, but have never been able to get past page 30 of one of his novels. But I figured after the great experience I had with Stardust, I’d be able to plow my way through the novel. Honestly, not sure I needed the movie, I was hooked almost right away by the style–I’d probably just picked the wrong books before.
But anyway, I’m a shade under a third of the way through the book and already I’m pretty glad I watched the movie first, because I might’ve gotten pretty darn annoyed with the radical changes already made (although I must say that on the whole, they were necessary to get a well-made movie on the screen–this isn’t a book that allows for an easy adaptation). Still, it’s another case of the book being better than the movie.
Which got me to thinking…which books were worse than their movie adaptations? Surely there’ve been some. Off the top of my head I sorta think that Altman’s M*A*S*H was superior to the novel by Hooker (if only for the fact that it cut out all the Trapper John as Jesus nonsense). Some movies are just about as good as the books/stories they were based on, some are hardly recognizable…that’s practically a cliche to point out. But I know there are some movies that do a better job telling their story than the book did. Just can’t think of any at the moment. Can you?
I’m assuming by now you’ve all heard that J. K. Rowling outed Dumbledore in Australia last week. Now obviously, I’m not going to be excited by this–but I’m not going to use this an excuse to rant about the morality of a fictional character. One of the strengths of the series was that every character was flawed, they all did heroic things (well, except You Know Who and some of his cohort), and they all acted foolishly and immorally. Dumbledore was no exception to this at all. So adding one more sin to his list really doesn’t affect what I think of him.
And that’s what bothers me the most about what Rowling did–it doesn’t really add to, or detract from, the character. There’s one attraction in his youth, apparently unrequited, which has really no affect whatsoever on the events in the series. So was this just Rowling needing to get her name in the headlines again? (not sure I buy that) Her trying to make some sort of political statement? (eh, maybe). I’m not sure, it seems so purposeless, senseless to do this.
Now, is Deckard a Replicant or not? That makes a difference. Is Hobbes really alive or a stuffed toy? That makes a difference. This? I just don’t see how it matters. No more than knowing what third-world country Fez is from.
Then John C. Wright weighs in on the issue, and helps me see another problem with her announcement (Fabio Paolo Barbieri’s comments are great, as well). Potter fans, take a second or and read ’em.
H/T: Thanks, bluewoad for catching the typo.
I’m done. And to steal a phrase from Nero Wolfe, all I have to say for the moment is, “Most satisfactory.”
Cracked this open for the first time last night, shortly after my shift started. At 6:25, when I had to take care of some end-of-shift chores, I had 100 pages left.
100 pages!!!
My kingdom for another 40 minutes!
Betcha can’t guess why we were there…
(Obviously, it was the large Magic Tree House display in the kids’ section that drew us)
(click on the image to see the strip in its full size)
We all have the ability to really freak ourselves out over nothing–a wrong number in the middle of the night, strange yet ultimately benign noises in the house, having to repeat routine blood tests, and so on.
Last night I’m reading a detective novel about a serial killer–I’d read it before, back when the Love of My Life was expecting Samwise and was too uncomfortable to sleep in our bed. Which worked out well this one evening. The depiction of the …evil, the insane (literally) depravity had set me on edge. I vividly remember, sitting on my bed not taking my eyes from the page, leaning forward as I read, as if that’d speed things along. It’s incredibly rare for a book to affect me like that, I wasn’t scared–but I was downright close. When I finally finished the book between 4 & 5 am (371 pages of tense prose and tiny type in one sitting), I went out to the living room, confused my wife by giving her a big hug and went to bed to catch a little sleep before work–purposely leaving all the lights on in the room.
So last night, I’m rereading the same book for the first time, and it’s starting to grip in in a similar way–but not as completely as before. About the time that the author really begins to reveal the nature of the killer–later described as “a creature beset by what Coleridge called ‘motiveless malignancy'”–I start remembering that night 8 years ago, details from the end of the book, and so on. This gives me a sort of detachment from the book. And as I realize this detachment’s existence, I feel a bit of relief.
And then, over my headphones comes the lighting strike of Kirk Hammett’s guitar, the staccato thunder of Lars Ulrich’s drums, and James Hetfield’s guttural vocals
Darkness imprisoning me
All that I see
Absolute horror
Frak.
I put a finger in the book to hold my place, walked across the room…
and turned on another light.