Ghost Hound: Something less than a gem

First, let's make something clear: Ghost Hound is not Lain. Despite having the same writer and director, it has nothing of the avante-garde about it, the framework is entirely linear, the characters are generic, and while it contains extensive meditations on psychology (similar to Lain, but without the tendency to the philosophical), the result are nothing but average.

The only thing it has going for it is some quality ambience and (a very few) images like the one posted above, but the result is overlong, bland, and average, average, average.

Thankfully, the same team is working on their fourth show, and that looks it should show some promise. We can only hope.

Gems from Japan

Sayonara Zesubou Sensei (translated: Goodbye, Mr. Despair) is one of the most fantastic examples of I'll call Japan's "hyper-comedy" genre. Obvious precursors are the works of Shinichi Watanabe (Excell Saga; Nerima Diakon; Puny Puny Poemy), Gainex's post-Evengalion comedies (Abenobashi; FLCL), Colorful (either written or directed by a guy who worked on such masterpeices as Serial Experiments Lain and Kino's Journey), and undoubtedly a few I've either forgotten or aren't aware of.

Ironically, despite its frantic animation (which can be quite stunning, juggling styles and moods with a new frame every few seconds), I noticed after a few episodes that the show actually has a rather straightforward script. This produces some interesting dynamics. There's always a lot going on, but primarily it takes the form of some extremely fast discourse on some or another cultural obsessions in Japan--some so obscure I'm not even sure what they're talking about.

Vintage satire doesn't really show up in anime very often (as odd is this sounds, it's actually rarer than metaphysics), so when it finally does, I'm glad the result is a purely Japanese show like this. It's not quite in tune with Takashi Murakami's superflat movement (a uniquely Japanese school of postmodernism), but it certainly shares a variety of Murakami's concerns.

Despite the lists I gave above, it's really nothing like any of those shows--certainly one of, if not the best comedies I've ever seen. It's consistently energetic, rigorously enjoyable, and notably intelligent. I can't think of anything else you could ask for in a comedy.

(For the record, I wouldn't be suprised if one or more names/titles were spelled wrong here. Definitely sorry for that.)

Why does Twin Peaks have to suck so much?

(I've decided to diversify this blog a bit, I'm going to try to cover film, anime, comics, television, music, philosophy, and some other cool stuff a bit more instead of just books--resulting in the present post, and most probably a few to come after.)

The truth, of course, is that Twin Peaks doesn't suck--or rather, that it shouldn't. It was the first show in the history of network television to attempt telling a sophisticated story, and certainly the first, maybe the only, to utilize surrealism. A show conceived by DAVID LYNCH (exlamation)! That resulted in fantastic images like the one pictured above. Not to mention that it was sometimes really funny.

The problem, of course, is that Lynch wrote only a single episode, and directed just a few (episode two, in which he did both, is absolutely fantastic). At some point in the second season he left the show entirely. I still enjoyed Kyle MacLachlan as Dale Cooper, but nearly enough to keep watching. Not only was the writing intolerably bad, the only thing worse was the acting; and from the beginning Angelo Baldalamenti--who was doing good work at the time, some of it with Lynch--had written a horrible, horrible score.

The resulting mess is harder to watch for how much promise it might have had. Really, it was never very good (certainly Lynch's worst next to Dune and Blue Velvet), but there are scenes in there (a few), to equal the best of his materiel.

Something cool

I just found out an I had an autographed book from Samuel R. Delany, one of my absolute favorite authors of all time--and it's been sitting on my shelf for two weeks without me knowing about it. When I opened it yesterday to start reading, I noticed there was some scribbling on the title page. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then I saw it was a signature, and I freaked. It's not actually to me, but I'm alright with that.

I bought it used off Amazon. I'm not sure why anyone would sell it. Admittedly, a signature from Delany is more a personal than a monetary thing, but still...

The book itself was 1984 (an obvious, obvious play off Orwell), a compilation of Delany's letters during that year, complete with a "prologue" and "epilogue" from the years before and after. As always, Delany is relentlessly intelligent and writes better than almost anyone else, about everything.

One thing that surprises me is that he could write this many letters during one year--the same year he was working on Stars In My Pocket Like Grains Of Sand, one of the Neveryon books, and probably something else I'm not aware of--even on the off-chance he didn't draft the original copies. He produced more than three hundred pages (in extremely small type on a relatively large page)--which is more than a lot of authors (particularly myself) manage anyway.

Some thoughts on Duane Locke and Yang Chu's Poems

Duane's Locke's poetic inclinations tend toward an individualism so complete he becomes a sort of isolated non-entity. He chooses to create a personalized bible, a singular kitsch, complete with mantra and vocabulary, whose only prophet is himself--only audience, himself--only object, himself.

The result: Yang Chu's Poems.

Even as an outside observer (meaning, of course, that I am not Duane Locke; that there can only be one Duane Locke; that Duane Locke is his own universe entirely) it is immediately apparent how this system of of belief is inseparable from the volume; just as it is inseparable from Duane Locke; and (we fall to a kind of equivalency principle, both encompassing and annulling) just as Duane Locke is inseparable from this volume.

I've heard Locke referred to as our finest living poet, and while this isn't necessarily true, he's certainly valid competition, and undoubtedly one of our finest living poets--I hesitate based only on the impossible nature of such a statement, and my own inadequacy in making it. There are poems in this volume eclipsing, or at least the equal, to anything I have ever read. These are frequent, rather than the exception.

If it has one flaw, it's that on occasion Locke becomes more interested in the composition of a representational text than a volume of poetry. When he writes poems, I can't think of anyone I'd rather read--but when this gives way to plainer verse with milder typographical innovation, concerned more with the continued, almost rhythmic presentation of his (already familiar) symbols and themes, this is somewhat less so. This has to take place because Locke's universe is also self-perpetuating, necessitating a routine fortification of its boundaries--but because we are not Duane Locke, the repetition of vocabulary has a somewhat lesser dynamic. I found myself interested less in the foundations of his belief than its product.

Would Yang Chu's Poems would be a better, crisper experience if perhaps thirty pages were removed? While I was initially inclined this way, in retrospect it becomes immediately apparent in to in order to contain the entity that is Duane Locke, every word must be there. To be whole, to Yang Chu's maintains the entirely of its discourse. The final result cannot be anything else. Anything else would not be Duane Locke.

--Some additional thoughts

I wrote this a while ago, and in the time since then, it's occurred to me that rather than composing a kind of immutable holy text, such the Koran, in which every word is absolutely unchangeable--something Locke, as an artist, can't possibly believe--Locke has chosen to develop an ultimate poetic "I" (through the illusory mask that is Yang Chu) which manifests as a sort of "anti-Whitman". Just as Leaves Of Grass accepts everything the world has to offer, Yang Chu's denounces it.


Available directly from the publisher here:

http://www.crossingchaos.com/Yang_Chus_Poems_by_Duame_Locke.html

Mark A. Lester's Five Star Pulp/Altered Ego

Currently, Five Star Comics (the independent output of Mark A. Lester, writer and illustrator), has two books available to the public. These are Five Star Pulp and Altered Ego, the result of much love, devotion, sweat, frustration, and suffering--and, sometime in the future, The Knight Wolf, a graphic novel featuring Morgan Stone, whose origin story is told here, as the first feature in Five Star Pulp.

Mark has said that he originally conceived this series to represent a sort of "total entity" for his creative output: a medium through which he can deal with any of many subjects that interests him. Like Dust, the other feature in this volume, it is highly aware of the pulp traditions from which it emerges, simultaneously paying tribute and refining. Both of these titles share a central interest in the nature of reality.

Five Star Pulp serves as a compelling introductory volume. In its current form, The Knight Wolf shows extensive promise. Of course, as an isolated origin story, it's somewhat less effective than Altered Ego (which also has a very amusing two page short at the end of Pulp), but rather, requires a longer volume, allowing Mark to elaborate upon this universe he's created--and, fortunately, we're going to get one.

Dust deals with somewhat similar themes, except on a cosmic level. The first few pages feature my favorite artwork in the book. I'm not aware of the future of this project, but it's extremely interesting as well.

Altered Ego is a lot of things at once. Most everything in it is funny. But it also offers a very serious, if somewhat disheartening, portrayal of "the artist's lifestyle", a gritty, cosmic accident that comes about as our society's lack of appreciation of art, as well as a witty meditation upon its own medium, chronicling the adventures of its own creator (who appears in delightful caricature, with really shiny glasses) who routinely inserts some extremely cleverer observations on the events at hand.

Based on its format, Altered Ego was originally written as a strip. Because of this, there's something clever at the end of most every line. My personal favorites are "The Knight Wolf" (a rather amusing allusion to his Morgan Stone series), in which, post inspirational speech, pencil in hand, the protagonist falls asleep without ever starting to draw (something that, indeed, he never gets around to, though he drinks lots of coffee); "The Secret Of My Success", a hilarious revelation concerning the tricks of the trade; and "Artsy Fartsy", probably the funniest in the book.

Also included is a dream sequence (with commentary) made up a sample of Mark's older work, featuring a very amusing talking cat.

Support independent comics and pick up your own copies here:

http://www.indyplanet.com/catalog/index.php?osCsid=c7b3c6c2858087e4d2daa9979dd55e06&cPath=36&sort=&filter_id=391

Or check out FiveStarComics.com for more information, galleries, or free reader copies--though really, it's much better to support independent comics.

China Mieville, Perdido Street Station, and Disappointment

I can't think of an author I've ever wanted to like more than China Mieville. After reading a description of his work, I immediately picked up a copy of Iron Council from the library, read it in the space of a few days, and hated it. At this point, I had already purchased copies of his other Bas Lag novels--and after a period of a few months, I finally started on Perdido Street Station.

Which only succeeded in disappointing me further. Despite Mieville's satisfactory prose and mildly impressive imagery, Perdido Street Station is unable to hide that it's little more than than a rather average monster flick with impressive production values. Meiville's powers of invention come off as theatric (in the hollywood sense) rather than artistic, and despite sparse moments of interest the too-long novel, in the end, was really just... normal.

This disappointment stems more than anything from the authors Mieville has been compared to--not to mention the tribute he pays to M. John Harrison and Mervyn Peake--many of who do constitute a significant variation upon genre fiction, including the two mentioned above, Harrison in particular, Michael Cisco and Jeff Vandermeer; others (unrelated but who acheive fantastic success) such as Murakami, Wolfe, or Delany; or authors coming in from the other side, such as Pynchon, Borges, Alasdair Gray, Carlos Fuentes, Umberto Eco, Salmon Rushdie, and Kathy Acker.

This explains Mieville's popularity, but while he does blend genres extensively and treat, it still feels... the same. I have the feeling I'll be undergoing a similar experience with George R.R. Martin and Harlan Ellison, but I have higher hopes for Zoran Zivkovic, Roberto Bolano, and possibly Norman Spinrad. Absolutely interested in suggestions for new reading material here.

Unfortunately, I still have a copy of The Scar stitting on my bookshelf. I'll probably read it someday, and I hope I like it, but based on the other Mieville I've read, I'm not looking forward to it.

Flaubert and Salammbo

Flaubert, prophet of the "new prose" which was to prove one of the most significant (and interesting) developments in twentieth century, is primarily known for Madam Bovary, a satirical look at the French rural lifestyle of the time--which, despite any of its virtues, manages only to be extremely, extremely boring. The same is true of Sentimental Education, to a lesser degree, though I find that novel quite a bit more interesting, and it came to me (indirectly) upon the rather lofty recommendation one Samuel R. Delany.

In Salammbo, finally Flaubert finds material worthy of his prose. I find that refreshing.

(The same is presumably true of The Temptation of Saint Anthony. One can only hope.)