Reading/Watching Log #22

Wow, I got through a lot of stuff this month. I'm not sure how I managed it since my free time is still severely limited, but here we are: six books, four movies, two shows and a micro-series (at least that's what Wookiepedia calls Forces of Destiny).

Just like in September, I've been striving to finish book series that I started (sometimes years ago) and never completed, which means more from Sarah J. Maas, Danielle L. Jenson and Rick Riordan – though in the course of reading their back-catalogue, they've all published something new. Which is funny, since I also finished the second half of Storm of Swords, written by the world's slowest author.  

Heir of Fire by Sarah J. Maas

I'm still not sure how I feel about these books, but I suppose on some level I must be enjoying them since I'm ploughing through them. That said, I think they're rather overhyped (especially in comparison to anything written by Leigh Bardugo or Laini Taylor) and rely on several tropes that have given fantasy and YA a reputation for being hopelessly clichéd.

Celaena Sardothien (if you can figure out how to pronounce that, congrats) is an assassin working for the tyrannical king of Adarlan, sent to a neighbouring country to kill its rulers – though she has absolutely no intention of doing so. All this time she's been secretly working against his regime, as her true identity is Aelin Ashryver Galthynius (again, I've no idea how to pronounce this): the heir of conquered Terrasen and its magically-endowed people.

One reasonably clever twist on the usual formula is that Celaena knew all along that she was really Aelin (usually a protagonist's heritage is something they have to discover for themselves). It only came as a surprise to her ally/lover Chaol, who spends this book brooding over what he lost with her and organizing a rebel faction to take down the corrupt king. Meanwhile, Aelin is tracked down by her remaining family and forced to undergo gruelling training to unlock her magical abilities.

As the third book in the series it very much felt like a "bridge" between its predecessors and the stories to follow. A couple of new characters and concepts are introduced, but for the most part Maas takes the opportunity to rearrange the pieces and set up the stakes of the conflict that's still to come.

Queen of Shadows by Sarah J. Maas

So far there's been a pattern to my reading experience of these books: I wasn't too impressed by the first, thought the second was a big improvement, was lukewarm about the third, and had my enthusiasm rejuvenated by the fourth. This is the biggest instalment in the series so far, and it was full of great characters (including an influx of female ones) and plot-twists I didn't see coming.

That said, it also takes a turn for the extreme YA: at some point Maas decided to swap Aelin's fairly realistic and down-to-earth suitor for an Edward Cullen/Rhaegar Targaryen mash-up: long white hair, supernatural strength, and an immortal life-span in which he finds nothing better to do than devote every waking moment to a teenager. Mmkay. Judging from some of the Goodreads reviews, a lot of her fans weren't too happy with the switch from Chaol to Rowan, but rest assured you can expect the words "agony", "hunger" and "torment" to show up a lot.

I also noticed that although Maas ticks some of the necessary third wave feminist boxes (powerful female protagonist who calls the shots in her relationships, women who forge alliances/friendships when you would expect petty rivalries/jealousies, a shameless enjoyment in describing clothing, hair and other accessories) it doesn't change the fact that all the major supporting characters are male, or that we're now sitting at a grand total of three female characters that are fridged either for plot purposes or male angst.

Like I said earlier, for every little twist or subversion throughout the series, there are at least ten clichés that are played completely straight.

The Blood of Olympus by Rick Riordan

The fifth and final book in the Heroes of Olympus series is ... fine. I get the feeling Riordan was running out of steam in the final stretch, as some of the obstacles his teenage heroes went up against felt a little formulaic (a god in a modern setting poses a challenge that the teens defeat in increasingly awkward ways) in sharp contrast to the imaginative force of the original Percy Jackson series.

There were also perhaps way too many characters to keep track of: the previous book juggled seven different points-of-view, and though this one drops Hazel and Frank, it adds Nico and Reyna (who are at least in a completely different subplot than Percy, Annabeth, Leo, Piper, Jason, Hazel and Frank). When very short chapters keep alternating between half a dozen different perspectives, it's hard to keep track of what's going on.

That everyone gets paired up by the final chapter is also a little eye-roll-worthy, but I note with interest that Riordan has since moved on from the Greek/Roman pantheon to the Norse gods – hopefully the change of deities has reinvigorated his creative juices.

Warrior Witch by Danielle L. Jensen

Another YA trilogy ticked off my list (just in time for the author to release a prequel) that managed to be pretty satisfying – though oddly, one that suffered from the same sort of problem as The Blood of Olympus: short chapters that switched constantly between two first-person narratives, making it extremely difficult to keep track of who was talking.

Star-crossed lovers Cecile (opera singer) and Tristan (hot troll prince) are facing an invasion of trolls from beneath the mountain where they've been trapped for hundreds of years, and though each is hopeful of a reconciliation between the two races, that's not a possibility when Tristan's people are led by megalomaniacs.

It's a satisfying ending, marred a little by the lack of emotional fallout regarding a character's death in the previous book, but one that provides closure on all the characters, cleverly plays with the rules of magic that Jensen carefully established in the last two books, and contains enough bittersweetness to elevate it from your typical YA fantasy fare.

Storm of Swords Part II: Blood and Gold by George R.R. Martin

Still trundling along, though I expected it'll be a while before I get to A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons, knowing what I do about how the plot slows down considerably after this. For now though, it was fun to read the book having already watched the show, seeing all the little changes (Jeyne Westerling, Jaime/Brienne/Cersei at the Red Wedding, Fake!Arya) as well as the myriad of details that couldn't make it into the episodes.

It's always interesting to see the ways in which the books and adaptation part ways, especially in the inevitable "which did it better" debate. Undoubtedly there are some events and characters that the show depicted to good effect, and others in which they miscalculated badly. But possibly the most interesting problem is when David Benioff and D.B. Weiss take the opportunity to expand on George Martin's text, only to flail madly when their ideas don't match up with his plot.

The prime example of this is the characterization of Shae. In the book she's a fairly one-dimensional gold-digger who plays along with Tyrion's belief in their relationship for her own monetary benefit, and whose manipulation of him is readily apparent to the reader (and in fact, everyone but Tyrion himself). Personally I can't bring myself to judge a girl trying to make a living in a brutal world, but it's clear Martin didn't have much regard for her.

But on the show, Benioff and Weiss go out of their way to make Shae a much more interesting character, one that's fiercely protective of Sansa and legitimately in love with Tyrion. This initially seems like a good thing, except when it's time for Shae to meet the fate that's accorded to her in the book: she testifies against Tyrion in court, ends up in Tywin's bed, and is duly strangled to death when Tyrion finds her there.

Benioff and Weiss effectively wrote themselves into a corner, as their take on Shae simply doesn't mesh with Martin's. The character they created wouldn't do what Martin's story required of her, but they forge ahead with a plot that forces them to throw her character under the bus. There's a half-hearted attempt to paint her as a Woman Scorned, but even that makes little sense. Would their version of Shae really not recognize the threat posed to her by the Lannisters? Or that Tyrion was trying to secure her safety by removing her from King's Landing? Would she really have turned on Sansa?

And so much is left unexplained. Did Bronn take her to the boat or was he lying? Did Shae get off and return to King's Landing or was she escorted there under guard? Was she coerced into testifying or did she appear of her own volition? As they did with Sansa and Arya's Winterfell plot three seasons later, most of the important stuff that would have explained all this happens entirely off-screen.

The salt in the wound comes with Shae and Tyrion's last scene together, in which Benioff/Weiss try to mitigate Tyrion's actions by having Shae grab a knife, rendering her murder at Tyrion's hands a sort-of self-defence. And of course, her death is hardly ever mentioned again.

It's weird when you think about it: all the characterization Benioff/Weiss gave Shae hardly seems worth it – in fact, it makes the story (and how we're supposed to feel about it) much more muddled when it comes to killing her off. Guys, you don't get credit for fleshing out Shae if you're just going to Character Derail her in order to adhere to Martin's text.

Okay, I'm ranting about something that most people probably got over years ago. But reading the book for the first time really brings adaptation process into focus, specifically the "butterfly effect" in which a small change early on can cause a lot of havoc later on.

But it's actually fun to have watched the show first and then go back to get all the rich detail and nuance the book provides – as well as the subplots that were dropped or changed. The show posits it was Littlefinger who sent the assassin after Bran, but I was surprised to find it was originally Joffrey. The show never reverses the story that Tyrion's first wife Tysha was a whore paid by Jaime to take his little brother's virginity; here it's revealed she was exactly who she said she was. A fake Arya is on her way to Winterfell to be put through the horrific storyline that Sansa was dealt in season five, and of course, the book ends with the reveal of Lady Stoneheart – something the show has jettisoned completely. I can't say I blame them – it's on the verge of becoming very unwieldy, as Martin himself finds out in the very next book.

The Nosferatu Scroll by James Becker

Drawing on real vampire lore and the strange circumstances surrounding Princess Eleonora Amalia's death in 1741 (look her up, the story is fascinating), James Becker weaves a suspenseful but grisly story about a holidaying couple thrown head-first into a terrifying ordeal.

There's really nothing that destroys your enjoyment of a trashy supernatural thriller faster than a prolonged ritualistic rape scene that adds nothing to the story and the threat of which hangs over the head of the female protagonist for almost the entirety of the book's duration. It casts a nasty pall over the whole reading experience. As with Steve Berry, James Becker's novels are best described as lite Da Vinci Code (which in itself is pretty damn lite).

I liked the descriptions of Venice, some of the vampire lore, and even the unique relationship between the male/female protagonists (they're not young lovers but a pair of amicable divorcees) but feel free to skip this one.

Blade Runner (1982)

Aside from the fact it starred Harrison Ford and was considered a sci-fi classic I knew absolutely nothing about Blade Runner. The first surprise was that something I had assumed was a typical Hollywood blockbuster had such a low-stakes premise. Four synthetic humans (or replicants) want to extent their extremely short life expectancy and so try to track down those who can prolong their existence. Harrison Ford is a Blade Runner (not sure why they're called that) tasked with hunting them all down.

My viewing experience was like watching the first season of The X-Files: both were such a big influence on later shows/films that if you didn't watch them when they were first released, they end up feeling derivative. I had to keep reminding myself that each one was first in their depiction of certain idiosyncrasies. (Though I use the term "first" loosely. More like "brought certain tropes to a wider audience in a creative and memorable way").

In the case of Blade Runner, it was building its plot on the ever-fascinating question of "how human is artificial intelligence?" (which is just a breath away from "what makes us human?") and its use of the cyberpunk aesthetic, which is probably the most famous example of it on the big screen.

It wasn't until I was reading up on the film afterwards that I realized a) there were several different cuts of the finished product and b) one of the lasting questions in pop-culture – along with what was in the Pulp Fiction briefcase and did Cobb really return to his children in Inception – is whether or not Decker is a replicant. It seems an odd sort of enigma, considering it doesn't make a huge difference to the unfolding of the plot and is based on two swift scenes involving a dream and an origami unicorn.

You know what, I just don't think I get Blade Runner. I'm going to have to watch it again sometime soon.

The Woman in Black (2012)

I read Susan Hill's novelette a couple of months ago, and was curious about its adaptation (one day I'll hopefully get to see the stage show as well). There were a lot of changes, most of them understandable, but a couple of metaphysical "rules" that didn't sit well with me.

Arthur Kipp is sent by his law firm to gather the appropriate papers from Eel Marsh House, a sprawling mansion that can only be reached over a causeway at low tide. Its owner is recently deceased, so Arthur can't account for the reappearances of a veiled woman in black – though mention of it in the nearby village is cause for extreme alarm.

I watched this with the folks, which involved mum screaming at every single Jump Scare and dad speculating that Arthur's dead wife (who he sporadically sees in her wedding dress) would eventually come to the rescue and fight off the Woman in Black. My dad comes up with some pretty stupid theories when he watches movies, but I have to admit that would have been damn awesome.

It's atmospheric and suspenseful and a traditional ghost story of the kind we don't see much of anymore, but if there's one thing that stuck in my craw it's the magnitude of power that the Woman in Black wields. Not only can she induce children to kill themselves, but she apparently holds their spirits hostage after death – now, regardless of what you think of faith or the afterlife or the existence of souls, this just doesn't sit right with my understanding of How Things Work.

Look at it this way: a unicorn isn't real, but it has to have a single horn or else it's not a unicorn. Likewise, ghosts aren't real, but if they were, a deceased person having control over other people's immortal souls (especially those of innocent children) shouldn't be possible. It's just not right.

Also, Daniel Radcliffe is terrible in this. Sorry, but there are scenes in this movie when he's meant to be utterly terrified, and all he can manage is a blank expression. And honestly, most actors are pretty open about the fact that fear is the easiest emotion to muster.

The Garden of Words (2013) 

So this was an odd duck. An anime film that clocks in at just under forty minutes, which is concerned simply with two people interacting in a public garden. I spent its entire run-time being reminded of She and Her Cat, only to discover afterwards that they were directed by the same person: Makoto Shinkai. He's all set to take the crown of Japanese anime from Hayao Miyazaki, and I can't say I'm too surprised.

Fifteen year old Takao and twenty-seven year old Yukino are both adrift in their lives, each coming separately to a pagoda in the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden on rainy mornings to try and gain a sense of tranquillity. During their encounters they fall into conversation about shoemaking, Japanese poetry, and their dreams for the future, though never formally introduce themselves.

While Yukino is charmed by Takao's innocence and ambition to become a shoemaker, Takao is left wondering why such a lovely woman is skipping work to drink beer and eat chocolate. It's a quiet movie, with a slow pace and not a huge amount at stake, in which the viewer is always left wondering how much of the relationship is meant to be interpreted as romantic in nature.

Mr Holmes (2015)

As with The Garden of Words, this was a funny little movie, detailing the final years of Sherlock Holmes's life as he struggles with his failing memory and tries to solve his final case – the one he abandoned years earlier for reasons he can no longer recall.

As it happens, the official premise of the movie is a misnomer. He in fact did solve his final case, but in such a way that he forced himself to forget what happened. Over the course of the film he uses his housekeeper's bright young son to recall the details and learn a final life-lesson before the end. So there's not really any mystery to speak of; instead it's more of a character study in which Holmes finally discovers how to emotionally connect to other people.

There are some elements that ring false, such as the fact Watson and Holmes were estranged for years and never got the chance to say a proper goodbye, and a couple of subplots that feel extraneous, but it's an intriguing little film that just ... is.

Plus it's always fun to watch respected British actors fill major roles in BBC productions and/or theatre productions, only to be relegated to bit parts whenever Hollywood comes knocking. Amusingly enough Roger Allam appeared both here and in The Woman in Black, with a grand total of three scenes in total. At least here he has to play second fiddle to Ian McKellen instead of Daniel Radcliffe. Also appearing is Hattie Morahan, Phil Davis, Frances de la Tour, Michael Culkin and John Sessions, bringing a level of incredible talent to tiny roles that's hilariously unnecessary.

Killjoys: Season 2 (2016)

The second season of Killjoys hit the ground running, and I'm going to assume season three was just as good since it the show has been guaranteed two more seasons to wrap up its story. I enjoyed it for its witty banter and lead characters (even D'avin – now mercifully free of his role as love interest to Dutch – has improved exponentially) and am impressed by its storyline, one that manages to combine space bounty hunters, weird moss centipedes, an ancient religion, a clone of its lead character, a near-sentient ship, a collection of rare artefacts in an asteroid, a haunted school (kinda), genetically modified foot soldiers, and tons more stuff that I can't recall off the top of my head.

Granted, a lot of its material is recycled from other sci-fi shows/films – I'm sure you spotted plenty of similarities to Firefly in the above list, and I didn't even mention the relaxant gas pumped into a contained city to modify the behaviour of its inhabitants. Still, the writers have mastered the  art of making each episode a standalone adventure while still ensuring each instalment adds a little something to the overarching plot.

Where it really excels is in its supporting cast, which at times overshadow the three leads in terms of charisma and appeal: the effeminate yet badass gay bartender, the wise but psychologically damaged monk, the little rich girl in exile who still wants to do the right thing, the jerky bounty hunter who reluctantly allies with our heroes... they're all fantastic characters, and given just the right amount of screen-time to keep them interesting without overexposure.

The world-building is good but stymied by the show's budget, which requires most scenes to take place either in cramped-looking marketplaces, the interior of the ship, or a quarry. Watching the beauty of Star Trek: Discovery only makes me wish Killjoys had more money to bring its settings and landscapes to more vivid life.

Victoria: Season 2 (2017)

As ever, the greatest stumbling block with any biopic about a monarch is that it inevitably asks us to buy into the worldview that monarchies are a good thing. (In my viewing experience the only king that's regularly not cast into a sympathetic light is Henry the Eighth, and that's probably because his personal history demands otherwise).

A line from the titular monarch sums up my issue with that assumption: on being told she has to go to church for a blessing after the birth of her first child (as is expected of all 19th century women), Victoria says: "I am not a woman, I am a Queen."

Urgh, shove that sentiment up your ass, queenie. That said, perhaps the show is more self-aware than I give it credit for, as the very next scene is Victoria having to go through with the blessing anyway – it would seem even Queens aren't exempt from patriarchal expectations.

Yet for the most part the writing is firmly in Victoria's corner, and when it otherwise wouldn't be (in real life Queen Victoria was largely indifferent to the Irish Famine) writer Daisy Goodwin simply changes history in order to make her more heroic (in the case of the Irish Famine, giving the Prime Minister an impassioned speech about motherhood and suffering).  

The other problem with Victoria is that her life and reign were fairly uneventful, requiring the episodes to be padded out with things like squabbles between the servants or a gay romance between two identical-looking young lords which ends exactly the way you'd expect it to: death and tragedy. It's so woefully predictable that it's almost funny.

As with most period pieces, I'm here for the costumes and the scenery, though I have to admit I melted at the sojourn to Scotland in which Alfred and Victoria get separated from the rest of the party, which results in them taking shelter with a couple of country folk. I knew I was being manipulated, but as with the Doctor Who episode featuring Van Gogh, I feel for it utterly as Victoria/Alfred had a taste of a normal life, even if it was only for a single night. That a married couple with children could still have an adventure was lovely, and there's enough entitlement in the way they commandeer the cottage (there's no argument when the homeowners offer them their bed) to keep it grounded.

Star Wars: Forces of Destiny: Season 1 and 2 (2017)

If these webisodes were edible they would be popcorn: reasonably tasty but completely non-filling. Twelve have been released (oddly enough, the second season has significantly fewer episodes than the first) which focus on various female characters of the Star Wars franchise during different periods of the saga: Rey, Leia, Padme, Jyn Erso, Ahsoka Tano, and a couple more from Star Wars: Rebels (which I haven't seen yet).

With an introduction from Lupita Nyong'o each one is approximately three minutes long, depicting a challenge faced by each of the women. A couple attempt to answer minor questions that no one was asking in the first place (where did Leia get a new dress in the Ewok village? How did Ahsoka get her distinctive fighting style?) or fill in gaps in the canon material (Rey and BB8 had a few adventures before they reached Niima Outpost).

But the animation isn't particularly attractive and it seems odd that they would bother to hire the voice-talents of big-name actresses given how slight the material is (Felicity Jones only has three lines!) So even the usual suspects who go into meltdown over anything that spotlights women were strangely quiet, perhaps realizing this wasn't enough of a hill to die on – especially since the whole thing seems designed to sell toys.

But I don't want to be so cynical over something that's completely free! To continue my popcorn analogy, Forces of Destiny isn't something I would go out of my way to eat, but which is enjoyable enough when it's put in front of me.