Book 6: Fun Home

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic

Alison Bechdel

The art of reading and recommending books is difficult; the most lauded books can seem unutterably dull, a critical misfire can be a transformative reading experience, or a work can be important primarily in context, both respective of genre and of publication place and time. Why the obnoxious preamble? Graphic novel novice as I am, I recently re-discovered Fun Home, which had been recommended to me years ago by a professor for reasons I have since forgotten. The book is almost universally lauded by critics as a potent memoir and a poignant example of personal graphic fiction. Nor can I argue with these points. The subtle quasi-blue color palette replicates the haze of memory while providing a grounding sense amidst Bechdel's artwork, which itself tends toward the cartoony side. Despite Bechdel's drawing skill and her easily identifiable (and endearing) characters, however, the illustrations often feel more like illustrations than distinct building blocks on which to base a story. Some enhance the text or provide valuable counterpoint and punctuation to Bechdel's straightforward, powerful prose, but many simply hang listless on the page, seemingly there as a matter of course rather than necessary literary purpose. A number of these, particularly early on, have in-panel labels that could seemingly have been better handled- they usually butt in and distract from the images' internal coherence and their (sometimes already strained) relationship with the script. Bechdel certainly can't be faulted for constructing what is very obviously an intensely personal narrative in her preferred form, but the finished product may not best exemplify the advantages of graphic narrative, despite its importance (as I understand it) within the genre.

What is admirable is the verve with which Bechdel confronted and took control over her own powerful, confusing, and sometimes painful memories. Her use of recurring themes and overlapping, recursive storytelling lend to the feeling that readers are present alongside the author as she relives the memories, though the seeming necessity of implicit knowledge hampers readers' ability to immediately enter the narrative. Though Fun Home may not be the most effective union of illustration and text, Bechdel's work is clearly important in establishing that graphic novels can employ the same rich layers of metaphor and meaning as more widely respected forms of literature. The stories are grouped into thematic, occasionally repetitive, groupings that carry their themes well and related well to one another. With this territory, however, comes the occasional pretension and referential self-congratulation that haunts literary fiction. Well-intended and well-executed metaphors appear throughout the book, but the whole thing goes a bit off the deep end when Bechdel brings in ungainly references to Ulysses throughout the book's final chapter. Literature and myth are focal points throughout the novel, and Bechdel's decision to use the Icarus myth to open and close the story is majestic, but the references to Ulysses are baffling at best and the least flattering kind of pretentious at the worst. Like much of Joyce's writing, the allusions are annoying and impenetrable, intruding in on what is otherwise an intellectual, yet accessible, work. The book, characters, and story are engaging and, at times, as universal as they are deeply personal. There is no question that Bechdel  has bared her soul within its pages, but Fun Home is at times hampered by its own ambitions and over-thinking.

Grade: B

Book 5: Blackout

Deadline

Mira Grant

And so continues Mira Grant's zombie epic, following the survivors from Feed as they dig deeper into government conspiracies and the science behind their brand of the living dead. Though the book often suffers from its narrator, who's often just a bit too far off the reservation (though understandably so), a (somewhat) new supporting cast allows Grant to probe more deeply into her meticulously thorough post-zombie world. The narrator's newfound psychosis is understandable from a psychological viewpoint, but the asides can sometimes become a bit tiresome to characters and readers alike, realistic though they may be. But the story must go on, and Grant wastes no time launching directly into a do-or-die plot that reintroduces plenty of characters from the previous installment, though a few notable names are bafflingly missing. Like its predecessor, Deadline is often more compelling for the wholeness of Grant's vision more than its plot per se, though there is plenty of conspiracy-chasing and zombie-battling. Here, too, however, are the lengthy explanatory passages that prove Grant's imaginative genius but occasionally belie her writing or plotting. Though the characters occasionally make an appreciated meta remark about the propensity of antagonists to describe their evil plots, their self-awareness doesn't quite excuse the author's dependence on this kind of expository passage. The novel isn't quite as much of a high-octane adventure as a slightly paranoid scientific exploration, but it is strangely compelling. Though the more active incidents seem to be carefully paced, they enliven what is, at its heart, a more contemplative book. More intriguingly, Grant seems to view zombies as a means to explore larger political and moral themes, and this book treats neither with kid gloves. Despite the cast's wishes, there are no easy answers, and the coda opens the door for even more layers of nuanced complexity. Sure, some plot devices are too convenient and sure, there may be too few or too many zombie battles for readers at the periphery, but Grant's work consistently proves that genre fiction, and even extremely stereotyped tropes like zombies, can be an unparalleled testing ground for new ideas and new ways to explore some of the messier issues inherent in the human condition. Deadline doesn't offer as many pleasant surprises as Feed, but it is a worthy sequel and a good pivot point as the series moves from zombie-poking adventures into deep ethical quandaries.

Grade: A-

Book 4: Deadline

Deadline

Mira Grant

And so continues Mira Grant's zombie epic, following the survivors from Feed as they dig deeper into government conspiracies and the science behind their brand of the living dead. Though the book often suffers from its narrator, who's often just a bit too far off the reservation (though understandably so), a (somewhat) new supporting cast allows Grant to probe more deeply into her meticulously thorough post-zombie world. The narrator's newfound psychosis is understandable from a psychological viewpoint, but the asides can sometimes become a bit tiresome to characters and readers alike, realistic though they may be. But the story must go on, and Grant wastes no time launching directly into a do-or-die plot that reintroduces plenty of characters from the previous installment, though a few notable names are bafflingly missing. Like its predecessor, Deadline is often more compelling for the wholeness of Grant's vision more than its plot per se, though there is plenty of conspiracy-chasing and zombie-battling. Here, too, however, are the lengthy explanatory passages that prove Grant's imaginative genius but occasionally belie her writing or plotting. Though the characters occasionally make an appreciated meta remark about the propensity of antagonists to describe their evil plots, their self-awareness doesn't quite excuse the author's dependence on this kind of expository passage. The novel isn't quite as much of a high-octane adventure as a slightly paranoid scientific exploration, but it is strangely compelling. Though the more active incidents seem to be carefully paced, they enliven what is, at its heart, a more contemplative book. More intriguingly, Grant seems to view zombies as a means to explore larger political and moral themes, and this book treats neither with kid gloves. Despite the cast's wishes, there are no easy answers, and the coda opens the door for even more layers of nuanced complexity. Sure, some plot devices are too convenient and sure, there may be too few or too many zombie battles for readers at the periphery, but Grant's work consistently proves that genre fiction, and even extremely stereotyped tropes like zombies, can be an unparalleled testing ground for new ideas and new ways to explore some of the messier issues inherent in the human condition. Deadline doesn't offer as many pleasant surprises as Feed, but it is a worthy sequel and a good pivot point as the series moves from zombie-poking adventures into deep ethical quandaries.

Grade: A-

Book 3: Feed

Feed

Mira Grant

Zombies, as a storytelling device, are a bit hard to pull off convincingly. Thanks to the likes of George Romero and a recent resurgence in all things walking dead, the shambling monsters are associated with a number of tropes, and readers need to be instantly aware of which rules apply and, to a lesser extent, why in a given work. If there's one thing that Mira Grant absolutely excels at, it is more-realistic-than-reality world-building. Though Feed, the first novel in a trilogy, often resorts to expository asides, the depth of the world they reveal is enviable. The zombie-filled intervening years between our present and the novel's are familiar, with plausible social, political, and technological developments littered throughout the story. Too many of these appear in blatant statements to the reader (and, somewhat bafflingly, in reprinted blog posts by the main characters), but they are extremely deliberate and contribute to an enveloping sense of setting, one that can bleed into readers' perceptions of their own world (or at least mine). Moreover, the characters very clearly descend from our own cultural environment- they are aware of current (and past) zombie films and literature, and refer to cult figures like George Romero as societal heroes, a vanguard linking our present to theirs. From the first high-speed chase to the melancholy epilogue, readers are present in every single moment, even those that seem drawn out or far too convenient. Grant expertly draws us in immediately and there is never a compelling reason to leave the narrative world.

Grant's admirable attention to scene-setting detail covers up many of Feed's narrative flaws and makes for a gripping, addictive novel despite a somewhat plodding, predictable plot. Feed never quite effectively balances its exposition and plot, and never quite effectively becomes the political thriller it seemingly intends to be. Plot twists occur to the reader a few beats before the book gets around to them, and while the key deaths do carry an emotional impact, they are telegraphed just too far ahead of time to retain all of their raw power. The characters themselves are realistic and likable, even if the politicos two too easily to easy, established tropes, and the politics, while exaggerated, are not unreasonably simplified. Yet, somehow, the strength of the world makes the novel nearly impossible to put down, not, perhaps, due to a tension that never reaches its full potential, but instead a result of the painstaking attention to small details. Sure, the supplementary blog posts by main characters are often insultingly thin disguises for extra exposition, but the narrator's sarcasm and skepticism make these necessary asides not only bearable but occasionally enjoyable, a cynic's perspective on a world we are meant to feel cynical about. The book takes the zombie trope and, lovingly, runs with it, plays with it, takes a straightforward look at the world we live in now, and synthesizes it into an engrossing, if not high-octane, almost-thriller. Feed surmounts all of the challenges it faces by being compelling and thorough; in the end, the flaws don't matter, and the book is one of the most memorable and enjoyable reading experiences I've had in a long time.

Grade: A

Book 2: The Best American Mystery Stories 2011

The Best American Mystery Stories 2011

Edited by Harlan Coben

As series editor Otto Penzler repeatedly says in his introductions to the annual Best American Mystery Stories volumes, the modern mystery genre is hardly limited to Homes-esque detective stories, matter-of-fact police procedurals, and noir. While it is somewhat disappointing that so few of these stories do appear in the 2011 offering, its examples, Loren D. Estelman's "Sometimes a Hyena" and  Max Allan Collins's "A Long Time Dead," the latter a continuation of Mickey Spillane's notes for an unfinished Max Hammer story, are well-chosen and exemplify the strengths of the sub-genre. Readers need not be familiar with the story's pre-existing central characters to appreciate the plot twists and hard-nosed protagonists. Despite the skill behind these tales and S. J. Rozan's "Chin Yong-Yun Takes a Case," a similar story of detection, the bulk of these stories take a different tack, often focusing on the criminals rather than those who catch them. Among these are some of the best stories among an impressively strong and varied group, each with a unique take on crime and criminality that contributes to a holistic understanding of the genre and, perhaps, a more nuanced look at human nature. These stories range from the sympathetic to the damning as readers take an exhilarating peek behind a hitman's shoulder ("The Hitter," Chris F. Holm), learn why a serial rapist-and-murderer is driven to such deeds ("Clean Slate," Lawrence Block), and watch a complex terrorist plot come together ("Destiny City," James Grady).

These are just a few of the most instantly memorable works from a collection that, impossibly, has no duds. As expected, some stories linger longer than others, but the remarkable variation from story-to-story will leave readers hooked, and the collection functions as an introduction to modern mystery fiction as well as an essential grouping for longtime fans. Far from focusing on traditional plot-driven procedurals (not that there's anything wrong with that), guest editor Harlan Coben has pieced together a group of stories that would, for the most part, fit right alongside any "literary fiction" gems the year should produce (though, shamefully, none appear in the book's litfic counterpart). Genre fiction is misunderstood and, quite frankly, goes places that straightforward fiction cannot and often isn't willing to. By carefully examining some of humanity's deepest and darkest impulses, the authors represented in this collection create compelling and relatable stories that should not be ignored by the mainstream. I am far from a connoisseur of mysteries traditional or new, but this collection had me absolutely hooked from the first line (despite Coben's terrific failure of an introduction, in which intended self-effacing comes off as intolerable smugness) to the final gunshot. I am unqualified to say whether The Best American Mystery Stories 2011 collects the year's most admirable works in the genre, but I feel perfectly comfortable recommending each and every one of these stories for readers of all kinds; the collection is simply fantastic, and there is a lot more variety herein than one might presuppose.

Grade: A

Book 1: Body Piercing Saved My Life

Body Piercing Saved My Life: Inside the Phenomenon of Christian Rock

Andrew Beaujon

The phenomenon of "Christian rock" is unavoidable in certain modern circles.  Take, for example, the very Dutch, very conservative, and extremely religious West Michigan environment in which I was raised, an environment so steeped in the Christian rock scene that I am disappointed in the easy-listening, non-ska qualities of local Christian radio offerings in a much larger market (Detroit). Though my religious beliefs do not generally jive with those who represent evangelical Christianity's most, er, vocal supporters (to keep it vague and respectful), living in an area so sympathetic to the sometimes-genre  that author Andrew Beaujon visited a college about five minutes away from my childhood home certainly influenced my teenage years, and I maintain a fondness for the Superchic[k]s, Supertones, Newsboys, Switchfoots, and other fundamentally religious artists who shaped, and continue to influence, my musical tastes. Though Beaujon worked on this book during my early college years, when I was liberating myself from the closet (and, perhaps not unsurprisingly, the Christian scene with it), I nonetheless hold a not-entirely-grudging respect for Christian music and its makers, and I am glad to report that Beaujon, though not a Christian, maintained the same respect for this easily typecast parallel universe that I do. Body Piercing Saved My Life is an outsider's look at a very fervent movement based almost purely on a specific set of religious values, so much so that a slightly non-sequitur section on anti-abortion protestors found its way into the book. That Beaujon managed to operate with only a limited amount of (usually deserved) snark and skepticism is a testament to his character, and that the book is filled with the utmost respect for the musicians and other industry professionals is both a credit to Beaujon and a subtle reminder, encoded in the book but not plastered upon it, that to paint with a wide brush is a dangerous folly indeed.

That said, however, the book isn't quite a landmark work of investigative journalism or, sad to say, excellent writing. While Beaujon's ability to evoke a setting is truly captivating at times, his parenthetical asides tend toward the distracting, with unrelated passages thrown in at times to shake things up, rarely for the better. The book, like some of its chapters, seems to lack a cohesive sense of direction. For example, Beaujon certainly has the right idea in periodically including discrete interviews with several important industry figures, but these sections of the book seem to jump in at random, without tying into the text at large. Better to bunch them at relevant points, perhaps, than to scatter them and lose a potential story. Yet aside from an early chapter that traces the history of contemporary Christian music in the United States, narrative is difficult to come by in this book, aside from some framing devices and festival stories that read more like a memoir than like journalism. While some chapter distinctions are obvious, such as the industry-heavy section focused on Tooth & Nail Records, much of the book seems nonchalantly organized, a collection of discrete articles more than a single, focused look at Christian music. There are times, as well, where Beaujon's outsider status works against him, and he often leans heavily on a few pivotal figures where alternative options proved difficult to convince

By the end of the book, it is difficult to come away feeling like Beaujon exposed a full range of opinions and views on, and inside, the Christian music industry. He should indeed be commended for scratching the surface of such tricky questions as "What makes Christian music Christian?" and for delving into- and recognizing the uniqueness of- the modern worship movement, but serious exploration seems just beyond the scope of this particular volume, for better and worse. While he discovers doubters and lifts the lid on the extremely diverse types of faith and belief that drive Christian musicians, the books feels repetitive, like a catalog of meet-and-greets instead of a lengthy exposition. In this way, the book feels like a beginning, a timid dip of the toe into an ocean of conflicting musical, political, and religious worlds. Body Piercing Saved My Life only scratches the surface of its subject, perhaps necessarily, but as a brief secular foray into the world of contemporary Christian music, Christian rock, and evangelical Christianity's relationship to popular culture, it is perfectly adequate.

Grade: B+