Brimstone, Brimstone, Brimstone

Sometimes, if I have enough to say about a book, I like to post my reaction to it here. In this case, my reaction went straight into my Goodreads review. So sorry if you’ve already seen this, but here it is for those who haven’t:

Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone is gorgeous. I was blown away by pretty much everything from page one: the writing, the setting, the characters. I’ve seen a few people mention they’re wary of books involving angels, and while I’ve never actually read any of the angel books that are all the rage right now, I’d be willing to put money down this one isn’t anything like them. Seriously, don’t let the mythos get you down. This book is not what you think—absolutely, 100% not what you think.

There were a couple moments in the flow of the story that jostled me a bit. The climax, in particular, doesn’t really feel like a climax, but a kind of story-spike that’s meant to lead to a much greater climax this book never gets around to. I got the impression this was written as one very long story and then divided up because it was just too epic. I can’t specifically mention what else was odd about the climax without potentially spoiling a surprise, so I won’t.

Lastly, I am a person who needs a character to cling to in order to enjoy a story. If I don’t have an anchor character, neither the most beautiful writing nor the greatest story will hold my attention (yeah, my attention-span is evil; I learned to accept that at an early age). Daughter of Smoke and Bone had so many fantastic characters I could have clung to, but it wasn’t even a competition in the end. There was only ever one anchor character for me from the moment he stepped on the stage: Brimstone, Brimstone, Brimstone.

So in short, read this book, if only because Brimstone is magnificent. As for me, I’m going to go looking for everything else Laini Taylor has written.

Why I Killed My Facebook Account

Being horrible at social networking comes naturally to me. Honestly. I’ve been horrible at social networking since before it was something people did on the internet. But suddenly, there was Facebook, and my family was on it and wanted me to join, so I did. Isn’t that how we all started—well, most of us, anyway?

So I did the Facebook thing for a while, and I found a lot of people I had lost contact with over the years. A lot of people found me, too. It was great to see them again, all grown up, kind of like a free high school reunion. But after a couple years, I started to notice something. Most of the people I was in touch with through Facebook were not people I would say I knew any more. We never talked or met up or anything like that. We just… read each other’s status updates. So what is that, exactly? That’s not a relationship. That’s keeping tabs on people.

I started to wonder why I needed to be keeping tabs on people I didn’t know any more. I mean if I wanted to talk to someone, wouldn’t I just call or write them? Why would I post an update on a newsfeed for everyone else and then hope that person responded? That sort of thing feels more like advertising than conversation. It seemed strange—keeping people that way—fearful even, habitual. It felt kind of like I was hoarding people. My computer had stacks of people in it I never even talked to! What if they were becoming a fire hazard? These are questions I needed to address.

To me, it’s natural that most people I know pop into my life and back out again. There should be just a few who stick around forever, and those people, whether they’re related to me or not, I would call family. Relationships are meant to have a lifespan, just like us. And Facebook sort of puts them in stasis, even though they’re already dead.

Anyway, I’m not anti-Facebook or anything. I just discovered I was likely using the thing out of habit and not because it helped me to build relationships. So that’s why I got rid of it, which means my “fan page” had to go, too. Sorry about that. But you can get updates here and on Twitter (which seems to be more about making new contacts instead of holding on to old ones). And it’s more manageable for me to keep track of fewer networking sites. It leaves more time for me to write, which is the most important thing, right? It is to me, for sure.

Fairy Tale Fortnight

From April fifteenth to the thirtieth, The Book Rat is holding an event called “Fairy Tale Fortnight”, and Titan Magic gets to be part of it! It’s going to be a fantastic couple of weeks filled with reviews, guest posts, excerpts, and giveaways. So if you have an addiction to fairy tales and folklore like I do, be sure to check it out! I expect to find an abundance of new books to add to my must-read list.

Author Jodi McClure on Emotobooks

When I first read about emotobooks, I didn’t know what to think. The idea of illustrating stories with abstract art was new to me, interesting but alien. The world of literature is changing so fast, I sometimes wonder whether I can keep up. But much of this change is downright fascinating. There are now more ways to experience stories than ever before, and the emotobook is just another way some people are pushing the boundaries of collaborative storytelling.

Jodi McClure

Lucky for me, Jodi McClure, author of the new, science fiction, serialized emotobook, Swing Zone, has given me permission to repost her explanation of what this new kind of collaboration is all about. Be sure to check out her novel on Grit City’s catalogue.

When a Book becomes the Art.

Inside the Museum of Modern Art, Salvador Dali’s “The Peristence of Memory” is a bit of a curiosity. After passing Van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ and Wyeth’s ‘Christina’s World’ and larger works like Matisse’s ‘La Dance,’ you are funneled into an alcove where several panels of Monet’s ‘Water Lillies’ extend from ceiling to floor. From there, you enter a moderate white room with a few pictures so small you almost don’t stop to look at them. But just as you’re about to exit the room, something familiar catches your eye, and you step back and tilt your head. There it is…in all it’s 9″ x 13″ glory. A melting pocket watch draped over a tree limb.

Many people don’t realize the minuscule dimensions of Dali’s best known work, a picture as unusual as the artist himself. Positioned next to such majestic company, the painting, barely larger than a standard piece of paper, seems somehow understated. You almost have to wait a moment for the world around you to shrink back down to size to gain the proper perspective, and even then…it’s still really small. Study the painting and you can see it is made up of simple strokes. The kind you could have done yourself, had you a brush and an ounce of Dali’s genius. It looks almost like a watercolor under the glass, delicate and fleeting. Sunshine in the distance. A foreground veiled in shadow. The smallness itself part of the picture. Lost in its timeless depths, it’s hard not to wonder…what the hell was going on in Dali’s mind?

There have been countless interpretations of Dali’s work. Reality breaking down, the distortion of time in a dream, a touch of Einstein, a touch of Freud. Ask the artist and he’ll tell you he was just thinking about how cheese melts when left out in the sun. Some scholars say it’s easy to understand, while others rub at their chins. In the end…it is what it is. A fascinating landscape inviting the viewer to contemplate it…while Dali laughs at you from somewhere in the ether. Art is a wonderful thing.

Whether it stirs your emotions or leaves you cold, makes you think or smacks your sensibilities, art touches each individual in a different way…but every artist sets out hoping to at least engage the viewer, to make them think or feel something. Even a child’s refrigerator drawing has a story.

Illustrations with literature, though, always depicted a physical scene from the story. Back in the Victorian days when it first became popular to couple the two, the standard lithograph contained characters in rooms or out on the street. What you wouldn’t find…and rarely find even to this day…is a book illustrated with a depiction not of a scene, but of a thought or an emotion, and yet, isn’t that the more perfect combination? Instead of telling your mind what it should see…it instead invites the mind to experience the moment in a deeper more meaningful way. It stimulates instead of delegates…prompting you to connect not a picture to the scene, but a sensation.

So, you will ask, “Does it work?” Fans of Grit City’s ‘Emotobooks’ will tell you that it does. By marrying pulp fiction to impressionistic art, Emotobooks become more than just a newfangled way to use your E-reader devices. They become art themselves, poking out of an unexplored niche of pop culture like a quad colored Marilyn or a can of Campbell’s soup. They’re funky on a cyber level. A digital age oddity in a sea of normality. A thought…outside of the box…inside of a book that’s made to tantalize your emotions to start with.

Each Emotobook is three people working in unison. An author who grabs your mind, an illustrator who grabs your soul, and an editor who makes sure you stay in tune and make beautiful music together. (There’s also this guy behind a desk with a big cigar who glares down at you with the unforgiving eyes, but we won’t mention him…out of fear for our lives…)

To tease your imagination further, some of these emotobooks are serialized. (Just think of a Dickens, an Eliot or a Thackeray…sitting at a PC in their shabby little city apartments, the oppressive night air barely moving the curtains over their open windows, the distant sirens and honking traffic, the flashing neon lights below them on the street. They’d be blogging serials. There was a reason why serialized fiction enthralled an entire age of Victorian Brits. Granted, it had everything to do with books being expensive and people discovering literacy was cool, but hey, both of those things still apply…)

Swing Zone makes its debut as an emotobook serial on April 1st. It’ll be there…on the wall…in its tiny frame, easily missed besides the giant Water Lillies. I invite you to check it out. You might discover yourself lost in a fascinating new landscape.

In the year 2229, cash-starved prospector Mia Blanchard uncovers a valuable relic while digging around the swing zone, a shared forest area that lies between two cities. To the north is Freedale, a polluted militaristic metropolis on the cutting edge of high technology. To the south sits picturesque Lakeside, a quiet rural community of earth loving purists.

A delicate accord between the two cities has allowed their peaceful coexistence, but as renegade activists from Lakeside start taking potshots at Freedale, Mia’s brother, Colonel Zavier Blanchard, calls for an attack to retaliate against them. With the swing zone fast becoming a battle zone, Mia rushes to excavate her find with the help of Coltis Lawson, an archeology enthusiast from the purist side. His knowledge and almost magical capabilities only serve to confuse her further, as she finds herself unwittingly falling for a man she’s not sure she can trust.

With her opinion swaying back and forth along with the tide of the conflict, Mia comes to learn there’s more at stake than she could possibly imagine. Torn between her love and her city, she struggles to uncover the mysterious truth while trying not to get trapped on the wrong side of a very dangerous line.

Mysterious Horror and Paranormal Activity

I admit I’m a bit of a horror junkie. Good horror relaxes me. I know that’s probably weird, but it’s true. I’ve tried to analyze why (because analyzing is what I do), and I’ve come up with a few ideas involving the release of endorphins, complete emotional occupation, and catharsis. In other words, it’s a mystery. But when I’m down and completely out, nothing soothes me like an unhealthy dinner, a strong drink, and a good old-fashioned horror movie.

Most recently, I saw Paranormal Activity. I’d been meaning to watch it for some time. People said it succeeded in doing what The Blaire Witch Project attempted to do, and having been somewhat disappointed by that romp-through-the-woods-with-angry-teenagers, I was eager to see what the “home video” sub-genre could really do. This time around, I was not disappointed.

Paranormal Activity is a slow burn. I never leapt from my seat screaming or clung to The Other Lamm, who puts up with my horror addiction with open-minded awesomeness (I should tell you sometime about how he turned me down for a first date because, as he put it, “I don’t like horror”—yeah, I didn’t get it either). I watched it in the dark, and then turned it off and calmly went to bed. I didn’t notice the effect it had on me until the wee hours, when I realized the sun would be coming up soon, and I hadn’t slept a wink. Because I was still thinking about it. It was glorious. THIS is what horror is supposed to do: keep your mind occupied; give you a vacation from your own problems; and let you experience a hint of mankind’s ancient, everlasting fear of the dark.

I went on to see the sequels, hoping they would be as good as the first. I read reviews of the second movie that praised it as being superior to the first. I have to say I disagree, although it wasn’t a bad film by any stretch, and it definitely had its moments. My guess as to why people find the second film more frightening than the first is it toys with human protective instincts by involving an infant. But to me, it removed a lot of the first film’s delicious mystery by sharing too much backstory.

We didn’t need to know what the malevolent entity was. In fact, it was MUCH better not knowing. Our fear of the dark is a fear of the unknown, and that’s what the first film touched upon in such a remarkable way. Once you give a history and motivation to the dark, it becomes less frightening. The third film exposed even more of the entity’s motivation and history, and in the light of understanding, it became almost silly—an overdone cliché.

After watching these three films, I’ve decided to pay closer attention to the horror I watch and read. I’m going to pay attention to the moment when the threat feels less threatening, and I’m going to pay attention to the amount of information I was given shortly before that moment. I bet I see a pattern.

Some might say the genre that loves the unknown most is mystery, but I don’t think that’s true. Mystery, as a genre, loves uncovering the unknown; horror, on the other hand, loves drowning in it.