Back in the Saddle

Here I have been waiting for a return to normalcy with bated breath. Maybe normalcy is the wrong word, since normal has some very untoward synonym cousins like average, run-of-the-mill, common, typical, and conventional...all words I doubt very many people would be scrambling to affix to their lives. So if not normalcy, then what? Routine? Structure?

Its been three months since I've written or even glanced at my blog. At first it was nothing more than a minor neglect, like not feeding your goldfish for a day. You feel guilty, but its not the end of the world. Even if you forget the next day, your goldfish won't die. And then its been a week, then two weeks, then close to three months. If your goldfish is alive, which he probably isn't, he's super pissed and ready to settle the score. Its easy to forget about him, floating in his little bowl, not a care in his average life, and then when you least expect it, you get home from your dinner and a movie date and he's upside down. You think Jesus, all I needed to do was sprinkle a little of that weird smelling flaky fish food in there but two or three times a week, and this all could have been prevented. 


Well, I logged back into my blogger account, and lo and behold, Interrobang still exists. Zero page views in months (obviously), a little dusty, but by no means floating upside down, so its time to sprinkle some food into its bowl.

As I mentioned, life has been a series of peaks and valleys, none of which resemble normalcy. My wife and I had our first child together on April 22nd; the little guy decided to come seven weeks early. Three blurry weeks in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, leaving my job to go on parental leave early, having very short-notice sinus surgery, and dealing with relatives, gifts, cards, questions, concerns, nurses, doctors, hospital staff all have contributed to the last three or so months being focused on something other than myself (good thing I'm not a narcissist!). All of this brouhaha has offered some extremely valuable perspective, though. Things tend to snap into focus a little bit easier when there is more on the line than mere ego (but that is still there too, in spades). So now that my son is home and working his way into an established routine, my surgery is over and quite successful (I can breathe, taste, and smell again! Maybe all of thats not so overrated after all), and my job is safety tucked away for the next eight or so months, I can finally dust off my literary hat and work on something again. Speaking of which....

Earlier this year, I decided that I really need to pull up my bootstraps and get out into the great beyond to seek out, well, for lack of a better word, kinship. No man is an island, after all. Some quick googling brought me to Meetup.com, which took me to the Victoria Creative Writing Group, which then led me to my first of several meetups amid the towering emptiness of the Atrium building downtown. Initially I was skeptical of meetup consisting of writers talking about writing, dropping bon mots and quoting Flaubert. Well, thank Christ, I was wrong. The dozen or so regulars at each meeting are eclectic, witty (though not insufferably so), interesting, and most importantly, passionate. And passion is like a disease to me, you have to have it around before you can catch it. I haven't been to a meetup in a couple of months, but returning to them is an important part of my striving for some focus in my writing.

I have been chipping away at my book here and there for the past couple of months, but my dearth of inspiration is not due to the metaphorical well drying up, which was a major fear of mine, but merely my lens being pointed at other objects, which is just fine at the moment. I am bristling with excitement to get back to writing and all that it entails. With everything happening at once in my life, it is calming to see the dust settle and to see my life, forever altered (for the better, I might add), and be able to accommodate my old passions with some new ones.

My new parent resolution is to continue to write for my blog as well as try as hard as I can to write my novel. We shall see how it goes...

Reimagining Perfection?

I have a question for you, dear readers. How does one follow up a massively successful, unequivocally influential, groundbreaking, self-contained piece of fiction that many cite as the Citizen Kane of graphic novels?

Well, my answer is, you don't. Plain and simple.

Sadly there are those who disagree. Not just disagree, but with gusto.

For those unfamiliar with Watchmen, it is an Alan Moore written, Dave Gibbons illustrated graphic novel that came out in 1986. It deals with heroes and villains, but through a refracted lens of alternate history where the US wins the Vietnam war by a landslide aided by the accidental "Superman" Dr. Manhattan, and the line between right and wrong, so clear in most other comic book stories, is blurred to the point where you may as well take both words out of the dictionary for lack of a clear definition. If you haven't read Watchmen, please do so, right now. If you scoff at comic books, do yourself a favor and get off your high horse and pick up a copy. It is well worth your time and effort.

Anyways, I am not writing to simply pontificate on the merits of Watchmen. That would be far too easy and more than a little redundant. I am, however, using this little soapbox to rage slightly against the impending series Before Watchmen, a seven issue run of backstories for each of the main characters from the original Watchmen universe. Here's what DC officially says about the project:

“It’s our responsibility as publishers to find new ways to keep all of our characters relevant,” said DC Entertainment Co-Publishers Dan DiDio and Jim Lee. “After twenty five years, the Watchmen are classic characters whose time has come for new stories to be told. We sought out the best writers and artists in the industry to build on the complex mythology of the original.”

This begs the question of just how appropriate and necessary it is to build on the complex mythology of the original in the first place. The original Watchmen gave each character a sufficient backstory, providing a past that links the present day characters firmly to their choices and actions. Every story strand is laced together so tightly that the end result resembles a Gordian knot compared to other comic book plots' loose shoelaces. I can understand the desire of wanting to explore the characters in Watchmen more; they are fascinating, interesting, and undeniably human (most, anyways) who are subject to successes and failures; to performing acts of valor and also unspeakable evil. The plot of the original is pitch-perfect in its balance of complexity and ambiguity, offering no more exposition than necessary, than to pile on more backstory becomes akin to an act of blasphemy, like spray painting a dick onto Michaelangelo's David's mouth.

What happens though, when one widens the lens and plays the devil's advocate? After all, reimagining, remaking, revisiting, and reinterpreting characters and stories has happened long before Watchmen, and sometimes to very good effect. One example: Kurt Neumann's 1958 movie The Fly, cult B-movie of no great consequence. David Cronenberg's 1986 version, however, is dark, intense, genuinely scary, and a touchstone for the directors trademark body-horror obsessions. Cronenberg infused the story with his own indelible style, transforming and elevating the source material into something justifiably revered (in the right circles) as a bonafide classic. But what of those who said the original must remain untouched? Not that I've ever ran into anyone who is such a fan of the 1958 film that they've claimed it is an unimpeachable masterpiece, but still, the question remains.

vs

 

Another example more in line to the Watchmen conundrum: Margaret Mitchell's 1936 novel Gone With the Wind. This tale of civil war romance is, according to a 2008 Harris Poll, the second most beloved book of American readers, behind only the bible. Upon publication, the book won the Pulitzer prize and the National Book Award and sold more than 30 million copies. In 2005, the novel was awarded a spot on Time Magazine's Best 100 books since 1923 (coincidentally Watchmen also resides on this list). Margaret Mitchell refused to write a sequel, but as the rights were passed down after her death, as well as her husbands' and brothers', her estate eventually granted permission to pen a follow up. Thus, Scarlett was born. The 1991 sequel was panned across the board and is generally considered an embarrassment by Mitchell's estate. Sure, it's star wasn't dull enough to bring down the reputation of its predecessor, but nonetheless it's existence can't be undone, and it will forever remain a punchline, a Scarlett-headed stepchild next to an American classic.

Much like Maragret Mitchell, Alan Moore has gone on record saying that he wants his seminal masterpiece to remain untouched. Unfortunately DC Comics, owner of the Watchmen property, disagrees. “I tend to take this latest development as a kind of eager confirmation that they are still apparently dependent on ideas that I had 25 years ago" says Moore, who won't take legal action, correctly assuming that he would be met with a battalion of lawyers. For the record, Moore has never endorsed any spinoff or adaptations of any of his work, which are, let's face it, piss poor (does anyone even remember The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen movie?)

But what's this? Alan Moore is responsible for reinterpreting DC Comics' Swamp Thing, completely revamping the character's backstory and writing brand new storylines that diverge wildly from the comic's origins. Does this make him a hypocrite? Yeah, at least a little bit, but one can say at least Moore did a really great job reinterpreting the character, elevating Swamp Thing and making new stories more in touch with modern readers, much like what Cronenberg achieved with his version of The Fly.

Now that we've arrived back where we started, I feel inclined to say that most of these sequels, reimaginings, and reinterpretations floating around are pretty tiring and mostly terrible. They are bastardizations created by lazy think tanks looking to make some money off someone else's ideas (Scarlett is still in publication and has sold millions of copies, natch). Once in awhile, however, there comes a genuine artist who wishes to infuse an old idea with new energy. There are no hard and fast rules pertaining to whether the outcome will be good or bad, or worse, inconsequential. Even great artists can fall flat on their well-intentioned faces (did Gus VanSant really think he could build on Psycho?), so it is up to the individual reader or viewer to judge for themselves whether there's any room for improvement in the original work to merit another layer.

 

 

Need I Say More?

Well, I suppose a congratulations are in order for Gary Oldman and Jonah Hill, who both received their first Academy Award nomination last Tuesday.

Leon

Bram Stoker's Dracula

The Dark Knight

The Contender

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

Sid and Nancy

Prick Up Your Ears

Portrait of the Cartographer as an Artist

I am sure everyone realizes that cartography is not exactly the world's sexiest or exciting field of study. A map is a map is a map, right? We all remember the musty pull down map of the world in our elementary school classrooms: the bright purple, green and orange continents, the lack of any truly useful information beyond a few rivers, capital cities, and major mountain ranges, the artless and utilitarian nature of it all. But it did the job. Where on earth is there room for subtlety and nuance when it comes to cartography? If someone asked me this question, and I assure you no one has, I would respond with a blank look and an insouciant shrug.

David Imus did not respond this way. Not at all.

David Imus, you see, is the head of Imus Geographics, based in Eugene, Oregon. Actually, David Imus is Imus Geographics. He works out of his farmhouse making maps of the United States. In 2010, he won Best in Show, the top award from the Cartography and Geographic Information Society. Considering this prize usually goes to National Geographic or the C.I.A Cartography Centre, I would say that is quite a triumph for one man with an obvious passion for mapmaking.

What makes Imus' U.S map so special? What sets it above the rest? And ultimately, is it art?

To answer the first two questions, the attention to detail from Imus is beyond reproach. Usually, U.S maps from the big mapmakers use typography software and designate space for place names using algorithms. The unfinished map is then outsourced to workers (not cartographers) to fix errors and space out the type properly, subsequently resulting in place names being deleted for more important ones (or highway shields). Imus, still aided by a computer, does all the typography himself, outsourcing his work to no one but his own critical eye. The cost of this minute attention to detail is 6000 hours of work, amounting to two years spent on one map.

But what a map! Yes, I actually just typed that.

From a distance, it appears to be just an ordinary map, much like the Mona Lisa appears to be just a painting from behind the bulletproof casing and hundreds of tourists. Upon closer examination, the full effect of Imus' meticulous eye blooms, especially in comparison to the standard mass produced maps. On the left is Imus' map showing the city of Cincinnati, on the right is the same detail from the National Geographic map. Notice Imus' map features green shading representing relative forestation, highlighting the terrain without necessarily drawing the eye away from other pertinent information, while the Natioinal Geographic map is merely printed over a white background. A minor detail, perhaps, when viewed up close, but as a whole it makes for a more natural, appealing map viewing experience. Smaller details such as the inclusion of three-letter airport codes and points-of-interest further solidify that this map stands head and shoulders above the rest. 

 

But is it art? Can something we so often take for granted, and seemingly does not leave room for many artistic flourishes, rise above the humdrum ordinariness of simply "being a map" and become an objet d'art? My god, yes it can. I see art as passion suffused with intense dedication and creativity, of taking something familiar and giving us a different take, a fresh angle. That is exactly what David Imus has done with his Essential Geography of the United States of America. To quote the irascible critic Anton Ego, not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is people like David Imus, who has committed thousands of hours to bring to fruition the absolute perfect manifestation of his vision, who truly make a difference in this world. They unswervingly follow their passion regardless of obstacles or ridicule, thereby creating something that adheres to their vision and theirs alone. 

 

I doff my cap to you, Mr. Imus. 

 

 

 

Words to Live By #10

 Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you may still exist, but you have ceased to live.

                                                                                                      -- Mark Twain

 

Current Obsessions

Here are a few things that are currently leasing some prime real estate in my brain:

The Watson Table

A gorgeous piece of furniture I am supremely determined to have in my home come hell or high water. Named after Dr. James Watson, the nobel laureate who, alongside Dr. Francis Crick, discovered the molecular structure of the DNA strand, this table is a stunning feat of design. Its designer, Paul Loebach, uses composite wood and carbon fibre to achieve the unique look. It is one of those pieces that simply stopped me in my tracks as soon as I lay eyes on it. Gorgeous.





The Dark Knight Rises

Months, even years, of speculation (at least in some circles....my circles) have lead up to the full trailer being released for Christopher Nolan's final entry in his Batman trilogy, The Dark Knight Rises. I have faith Nolan will make this instalment suitably epic, with a showdown between Bane and Batman being inevitable. I am trying my hardest to stay in the dark with the finer points of the plot, something that paid off before watching The Dark Knight in theatres almost four years ago and being incredibly surprised by how deep and dark the movie gets. It was a genuine surprise, as I expect this to be as well.

Only six more months until its release.....I can do it. I hope.







The Restoration Hardware Mayfair Steamer Secretary Trunk

The perfect place to write a new novel. This is another piece I simply must have. I was in Restoration Hardware not too long ago and sidled up to this incredible workspace, sat myself down on the Antique Chestnut Buckle chair and everything just seemed so....right. I could spend hours just sitting there admiring the handcrafted elegance, the vintage cigar leather, the 3000 individual hand-hammered brass nailheads, nevermind tapping out my latest literary masterpiece. 

Retrospecticus 2011

How will 2011 be remembered in decades to come? Will it be the year that twitter and Facebook overthrew governments? That the verb occupy took on a whole new meaning? Or maybe it was when ignorant, drunk assholes watched a city burn at their own hands because of a sports team? How about when massive debt on a global scale spread like a flu virus throughout Europe? All are large scale, highly impactful events that have made ripples that will fan out into 2012 and beyond. All of these events will be recapped over the next few days in annual retrospects on every news site and blog. But what about on an individual level? What happened this year that impacted me? What wandered into my orbit that made me think that this year was worth living? What made me happy? Lots, actually. Sure, I'm dealing on a small scale, but it's the little things in life that make it worth living, n'est pas?

Watching Hugo in 3D with my family. 

See, told you it was small scale. But this movie made me so incredibly happy. I normally treat 3D as an angry leper crawling toward me with outstretched limbs, but I realized that all it took was the greatest living director with over 40 years of moviemaking experience working with a seemingly unlimited budget on a movie that seems closer to his heart that anything he's ever done to make a 3D movie worth watching. The fact that it concerns the twilight of cinematic legend George Méliès and a plea to keep silent cinema alive and breathing, all in the guise of a children's movie makes it great; beyond just a movie, Hugo is an experience for anyone who loves film to savor and enjoy. 

Conquering my writing demons

Maybe the single most difficult thing I've done all year. Banishing my doubts and trepidations with one fell swoop, I signed up for a short fiction writing workshop where it would be impossible to crumple up whatever I write to keep it from prying eyes. Quite the opposite, in fact, since I had to not only write for others to read but also read my works aloud. Kind of reminds me of how Seinfeld said that death was the #2 fear behind public speaking, meaning that most people would rather be in the casket than delivering the eulogy. I may not have conquered death quite yet, but I read my short stories out loud to perfect strangers and lived to tell the tale. Turns out, it wasn't so bad. And since starting this blog and concurrently working on a novel, turns out I'm not such a bad writer after all. 

Reading 1Q84

I had been waiting for this novel to come out for almost 2 years, actively avoiding reading anything about it leading up to its publication in October, then spending almost 2 months savoring every one of its 944 pages. The reviews haven't all been kind, pointing out that Murakami appears to be resting on his laurels and revisiting plots and themes that have been covered in his other books that are half the length of 1Q84, but I didn't mind these so-called faults one bit. In fact, the length and familiarity made the book more enjoyable, knowing I am in the hands of a master storyteller at the top of his game and pulling out all the stops, no doubt eschewing the advice of more than one editor telling him to pare down his prose. It tickles me to think that such a massive tome by a Japanese author can still elicit midnight book store openings and lineups usually reserved for boy wizards. 

Turning 30

Oy vay. Starting my fourth (fourth!) decade on this planet was something I told myself wasn't a big deal. I'm most likely only a third of the way through my life, I thought generously. I've got milestones ahead of me that will hopefully count as the most memorable of my life....hopefully. But even the most optimistic thought cannot banish the fact that memories that seem fresh in my mind  (graduating high school, getting my driver's license) happened over a decade ago, which leads to me to think if I have really changed all that much in the ensuing years. Which then causes me to think that I have become what I never thought would happen: out of touch with whatever is considered "cool". Most of pop culture is a confusing mess to me nowadays. I've even caught myself saying 'back in my day....' And yet I'm told by people that I'm still just a young pup with his whole life ahead of him. That may be true, but my aching knees and increasingly crotchety behaviour say otherwise. We shall see where I am in the next 30 years. 

Watching my friends get on with their lives

This is an offshoot of the last entry, but it warrants it's own rant. Not so much rant, maybe, since there isn't much anger involved, more just melancholic realization. This is the year that good friends moved away, entering new chapters in their lives that, shockingly enough, don't include me as much as I would like. I will eventually pick up and move on too, but it's always hard when you're not the first to do so. Such a mixture of emotions, most of which were unexpected. Familiar blue sadness painted the canvas of my consciousness, but also red anger and green envy with splatters of ochre nostalgic reminiscences and the occasional trickle of bright white anticipation. A true emotional Pollock canvas, this saying goodbye to your best friends is. 

Listening to the album House of Balloons by The Weeknd

Out of nowhere, The Weeknd dropped a free mixtape called House of Balloons in March, and turned R&B on its head, at least for me. Abel Tesfaye, the man behind The Weeknd, sings songs about sex and drugs, but without all the posturing in a desperate attempt in glorification. Instead, the listener is bombarded with skin crawling hooks like bring your love baby, I can bring my shame/bring your drugs baby, I can bring my pain. Yeah, real uplifting, I know, but Tesfaye sells it so well, embracing debauchery in all it's discomfort, making insanely good music around it, and then giving it away for free. 

Seeing tUnE-YaRdS live 

What. A. Show. Seriously, I had heard that tUnE-YaRdS live was amazing from articles in The Village Voice and Pitchfork, but nothing could truly prepare me for such energy, crowd engagement, and sheer musicianship that tUnE-YaRdS brought to the small stage at Sugar Nightclub. It was an electrifying concert with zero filler, and listening to all the songs from my favorite album of the year live in such an intimate venue ranks as one of the highlights of the year, hands down.




These are just a few off the cuff experiences from the past 12 months of my life. By no means do they sum up the year for me tidily, not by any stretch of the imagination. But they all serve as signposts in my life as I, with the rest of you, hurtle into the unknown territory that is the next year. 2012 looms just on the horizon, almost in our grasp. Who knows, if the Mayans were correct this will be Interrobang's inaugural and sole Retrospecticus, unless I fervently tap an entry out on December 20th.

Only time will tell.