amanda palmer, f*ck yeah

I follow Neil Gaiman, a writer I like very much, and read his blog posts, on Goodreads. I'm not sure if I first heard of his romance and subsequent marriage to musician Amanda Palmer in one if his blog posts there, or somewhere else. But his writing about his wife led me to her blog, and her music. I liked it. As she says in her recent TED lecture, "The art of asking," it's an acquired taste. But she has acquired a lot of fans and supporters over the years, and in this fascinating talk she touches on making art and making money and how the usual model — of artists needing representation, a buffer, having someone else hold out the tin cup — may be outdated, and possibly even anti-art.

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and her techniques to raise money on her own to make an album with her new band, The Grand Theft Orchestra, without the sponsorship of a record label, are inspiring. I have been posting excerpts of a current writing project of mine on my blog, off and on, but after hearing Palmer, I have started having a whole new idea about how to proceed.


Her husband admits to being both proud and a little jealous of how her crafting her speech took her attention away from him. And a great speech it is. Palmer, who has been an independent and struggling artist for many years, could have hit "the big time" when she married the über-successful writer. But she hasn't seemed interested in proceeding with her career in any way but her own way.

She craves a true one-on-one connection with her fans, to the extent that they even put her up when she's on tour, as well as accept her open invitation to join the band onstage. The latter offer was received with the inevitable internet criticism, but Palmer genuinely wants to make art and stay connected to her audience — preferably simultaneously. Social media offers abundant opportunities for her to do just that. It's a revolutionary way to think about art-making and art support, for both the artist and the audience. If you have the time, I strongly urge everyone to listen in on Palmer. And get inspired.

gaiman and king on writing

Neil Gaiman has shared the wonderful interview that he did with the ever-prolific Stephen King for the UK Sunday Times Magazine on his blog.

“I got the idea for the writer in Bag of Bones having books because somebody told me years ago that every year Danielle Steel wrote three books and published two, and I knew Agatha Christie had squirrelled a couple away, to put a final bow on her career. As of right now, if I died and everybody kept it a secret, it would go on until 2013."

King is always practical and engaging when he talks about his work, and reading him in conversation with another writer like Gaiman is a special treat. He also included a shout-out to writer John D. MacDonald, a personal favorite, which was appreciated, even more so now that I live in his adopted home of Florida.

I start to tell King my theory, that when people in the far future want to get an idea of how things felt between 1973 and today, they'll look to King. He's a master of reflecting the world that he sees, and recording it on the page. The rise and fall of the VCR, the arrival of Google and smartphones. It's all in there, behind the monsters and the night, making them more real.

King is sanguine. “You know what you can’t tell what is going to last, what’s not going to last. There’s Kurt Vonnegut quote about John D. MacDonald saying “200 years from now, when people want to know what the 20th century they ll go to John D. MacDonald”, but I’m not sure that’s true – it seems like he’s almost been forgotten. But I try and reread a John D. MacDonald novel whenever I come down here.”

Of course the downside to reading this interview is that I now have to add some more books to my enormous to-read pile — Bag of Bones, Different Seasons, 11/22/63. Plus his The Shining sequel, Dr. Sleep, is on the way ... oh, boy.

stardust

Article first published as Book Review: Stardust by Neil Gaiman on Blogcritics.

This book could have gone horribly wrong, become insufferably twee, but somehow, it didn't. Neil Gaiman's Stardust is a lovely little fairy tale. It's one of those books that as soon as you finish it, it sort of drifts away like fairy dust, but you will still want to pick it up again and re-read it sometime.

The Faerie market day, from Chris Jamison, Charles Vess image page

The story starts out in the Victorian-era village of Wall, which seems set in a time even older than Victorian England. This is most likely due to what's on the other side of the town and a literal wall, the land of Faerie: "In the tranquil fields and meadows of long-ago England, there is a small hamlet that has stood on a jut of granite for 600 years. Just to the east stands a high stone wall, for which the village is named. Here, in the hamlet of Wall, young Tristran Thorn has lost his heart to the hauntingly beautiful Victoria Forester. And here, one crisp October eve, Tristran makes his love a promise—an impetuous vow that will send him through the only breach in the wall, across the pasture... and into the most exhilarating adventure of his life."

Young Tristran starts his journey with one goal—to win a beautiful girl by bringing her a fallen star. Gaiman is able to mix the flowery phrasing of fairytales with more contemporary speech patterns and attitudes to create a fairy tale for adults that is frequently funny. That should be no surprise to anyone familiar with Gaiman's work, as humor often plays a big part in his otherworldly novels, such as Neverwhere. His American Gods was a great mix of mythology and road-trip novel, with wonderfully sassy characters.

The fallen star Yvaine, by Charles Vess, from Green Man Press

"And there was a voice, a high clear, female voice, which said "Ow", and then, very quietly, it said "Fuck", and then it said "Ow", once more." Tristran has no idea that the star is actually a being until he meets her. He soon discovers that he is not the only one who is after her. A witch and her sisters believe that the heart of a star will help restore their youth and beauty.

Gaiman is definitely paying homage to Tolkien with some talking trees, as well as some other nods to fantasy-related classics, but Stardust is all his own. It's a mythical quest, where the quest turns out to be the least important aspect of the story. I read the novel version, but would now like to check out the beautifully illustrated edition he did with artist Charles Vess.

There was a movie made a few years back that has some major differences to Gaiman's book, mostly in the beefing-up of Robert DeNiro's sky-pirate character (he's a hoot). The film may not be quite as magical as the original, but it's fun, and any introduction to Gaiman's work is worthwhile.

Stardust is definitely a coming-of-age story with Tristran as its hero, but the female characters are the ones that make the most impact. The star Yvaine who glows with love, the cat-eared Una who is mother of Tristran, the witch-queen who hunts Yvaine, and the girl who starts it all, shallow Victoria, whose careless words send Tristran on the quest that will change his and many others' lives. Neil Gaiman supposedly would like to go back and revisit the village of Wall at some point and I would definitely be up for another trip there, too.

"Tristan and Yvaine were happy together. Not forever-after, for Time, the thief, eventually takes all things into his dusty storehouse, but they were happy, as these things go, for a long while"

Quotes from Goodreads


Book #5 in reading challenge Cannonball Read 3, sponsored by Pajiba

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the graveyard book

Happy Day of the Dead! The Gaiman-athon continues.

I really enjoy Neil Gaiman's writing. But this book, The Graveyard Book, is exceptional. It seemed at first a possibly odd choice for the Newbery Medal last year, but it was well-deserved. When one thinks about all of the grisly happenings in fairy tales, and how many things in the real world that can be sometimes perceived as frightening to children, a book like this is actually a balm.

Admittedly, it starts off with a bit of a shock, with a brutal murder of a family that unfortunately is not too far from the headlines of many local newspapers. The child that survives the attack, another "boy who lived," but with a distinctly different future in store, fortuitously crawls up the hill to a neighboring graveyard, where he is adopted by some kindly ghosts, and watched over by a young witch, a werewolf, and, although never blatantly stated, a guardian vampire.




The book of course has its fantasy aspects in featuring all of these creatures of the night and shadows. But what is its strong point, and what comes across most clearly in the reading, is how we, along with the graveyard's inhabitants, get the opportunity to watch little Nobody "Bod" Owens grow up, through all the struggles and childhood challenges he faces. He may be able to walk through walls and make himself disappear as long as he is under the protection of the magical Grey Lady and the graveyard, but when it comes down to it, he has many of the same issues as any sheltered child.

The world outside his graveyard home is dangerous—full of folks who may do him harm or, even worse, other children who may not want to be his friend, schools that teach things that may not be entirely accurate. We feel Bod's growing pains and his need to move beyond his supernatural family—all the time realizing that no one may ever love him as much as this family, but he will still have to go when the time is right. I could relate to Bod's need to break out of the protective cocoon. It brought back memories of my hitting the road for New York City as soon as I could fly out of the nest. But I also remember tearful nights in my new home and realizing that I couldn't go back—we can never really go back, even when we visit. Everything had changed. I had changed. I was in tears at the end of this book, both for my lost childhood and with the realization that I will sooner than I want to be living this timeless story from the other side, when my daughter is ready to leave home.

The other touching aspect of the novel are all of the dead characters. How many of us have lost someone, and wished or wondered if there was some sort of existence, similar to their living one, that might continue? Bod gets to know people from many different eras in his town's history. He gets a built-in history lesson as well as the reassurance that death is not final. He learns not to fear death or endings.

Gaiman may use a fantastic setting, but he is telling a true, heartfelt journey of growing up, for both child and parent.

The Graveyard Book is truly one of the most wonderful books that I have read in a long time.

Book #2 in reading challenge Cannonball Read 3, sponsored by Pajiba

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coraline

My love for our local library is helping me indulge in a Halloween Gaiman-athon. After American Gods I felt like I needed a change of pace before I tried Anansi Boys, so I decided to read Coraline. It was a quick read, and a tad disturbing.  No surprise there.

"How do I know you'll keep your word?" asked Coraline.
"I swear it," said the other mother. "I swear it on my own mother's grave."
"Does she have a grave?" asked Coraline.
"Oh yes," said the other mother. "I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back."

I had seen the movie first, which was just O.K., and was happy to discover how much I liked the book. Part fairy tale, part pure horror, part girl's adventure story, Coraline deftly sketches tween angst. Coraline is caught not only between the real world and the alternate reality on the other side of the drawing room door, but between wanting to  be independent and a child's need for mommy and daddy. Aided by a black cat who can slip through both worlds, she uses her considerable smarts and sheer guts to not only get what she wants, but to help others.

"I don't want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted just like that, and it didn't mean anything. What then?"

I recently saw the movie again on cable and was perplexed by some of the additions (neighborhood kid friend) and subtractions—the book had such a great visual of the other mother's hair, blowing in an invisible wind, but the stop-motion style of the animation omitted this visual metaphor. But where the movie was really confusing was how it was marketed towards kiddies. Coraline is a creepy story. My six year old is too young for it—just a few moments flipping past it on television and she shouted out, "Too scary!" Animation is marketed towards a young audience. But those button eyes ... But movies are different from books and Gaiman seems fine with how the film turned out.


Coraline is the perfect Halloween read, as long as you're not afraid to encounter the beldam and would like to take a walk between worlds with a smart girl and a nameless cat.

"What's your name," Coraline asked the cat. "Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?"
"Cats don't have names," it said.
"No?" said Coraline.
"No," said the cat. "Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names."

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american gods

After reading Neverwhere, I wanted to read some more Neil Gaiman. I've had Stardust gathering dust on my bookshelf, and was about to pick it up when I saw a copy of American Gods at our local library. It was a great choice and a great book. Gaiman manages to successfully weave together a mixture of gods and mythic heroes from many different cultures and folk legends that would impress even Joseph Campbell—all into a fast-paced, intriguing, even comedic,  thriller.

His idea is that America is not a country conducive to gods and god-worship. All of the immigrants, voluntary and involuntary, who have come to these shores for centuries may have brought their home gods and goddesses with them, but these old gods never really took to the country. Or the country didn't take to them. Americans, by their very nature, are always on the lookout for the next best thing, so even the relatively recently created gods of the media and internet will soon be ignored by their successors. The physical landscape of America itself is phenomenal, with natural, holy places.  Modern day folks are still drawn to such "mythical" places as Mount Rushmore. How could an Odin or a Kali or an Anansi or Horus compete with a gigantic, magic, mountain?

 The two ravens Hugin and Munin on Odin's shoulders

The characters of the hero Shadow and his boss, Mr. Wednesday, are terrific, as are the others that  Shadow comes across on his travels—especially Mr. Nancy, Whiskey Jack, and Sam Black Crow. Mr. Nancy (Anansi) was a huge favorite of mine, so of course this means I have to read Anansi Boys next, right? Or should I check if the library has The Sandman, because Odin and some of the other peripheral characters are suppose to figure in that one as well ... Or The Graveyard Book? It looks like my Halloween reading this October and beyond will be Gaiman. The depiction of the down-and-out gods of the Old World trying to eke a meager existence in the U.S. is consistently good. And humorous. And apart from all of the deep mythical background, what really was the best part of the book for me were the supporting, peripheral stories that Gaiman wove to tell how a few of gods traveled to the New World, via slaves from Africa, a female prisoner from Cornwall, a salesman from Oman. These supporting mythlets were powerful and never detracted from the main narrative and fate of Shadow and Mr. Wednesday.

There are some wonderful passages. A little more than halfway through the book, Gaiman lets a character step momentarily out of a story within a story to talk of the role of myth and legend and fiction:

No man, proclaimed Donne, is an Island, and he was wrong. If we are not islands, we would be lost, drowned in each other's tragedies. We are insulated (a word that means, literally, remember, made into an island) from the tragedy of others, by our island nature, and by the repetitive shape and form of the stories. The shape does not change: there was a human being who was born, lived, and then, by some means or another, died. ... Fiction allows us to slide into these other heads, these other places, and look out through other eyes. And then in the tale we stop before we die, or we die vicariously and unharmed, and in the world beyond the tale we turn the page or close the book, and we resume our lives.

A life that is, like any other, unlike any other.

And also this wonderful speech:

Gaiman reading Sam's fabulous "I believe" speech

There were a few surprises, and a few plot points I was able to figure out ahead of time. Some of the characters' outcomes may have seemed left dangling or unresolved, but not in bad way. Just that their story might continue off-screen, if you will. Apparently Gaiman has written a novella with further adventures of Shadow. I'll have to check that out. The only very minor quibble I might have with American Gods is that the Götterdämmerung didn't end up being quite as dramatic as some of those other, stronger parts of the book. But the battle also didn't feature the hero front and center, and frankly that is where the book's and the reader's main interest lies—not in a long, drawn-out, detailed battle scene. Gaiman wasn't trying to rewrite The Two Towers or  The Return of the King and I'm grateful for that.

American Gods takes Shadow and the reader through some interesting places, both before and "behind the scenes," where anything might happen. I truly enjoyed accompanying Shadow and spending some time in a tiny nice town in frozen Wisconsin,  a funeral parlor in Cairo, Illinois, the mythical white ash Yggdrasil,  and the Underworld. As much as I enjoyed the narrative, I am left with the echoes of the forgotten gods and what it might mean to take your gods with you and then abandon them. All of our personal stories and histories, where do they go after we're gone? Who is that man driving the taxi cab, or that woman in the coffee shop with the too-bright hair and flower tattoo? Eccentric? Or maybe something else ...

Related:
Neil Gaiman's Journal

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underground

I just finished Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere. I enjoyed it. What really struck me, as I read it, were all the "links" I could make. Some placed within the novel by Gaiman, some brought to the experience of reading by the particular reader, me.

Neverwhere tells the story of an everyman, Richard Mayhew, who is swept into another world beneath the streets of London, called London Below. This other London is peopled by those who have fallen through the cracks of our world, as well as some fanciful and pretty horrible characters, and also ones with otherworldly powers. I enjoyed the character and in-joke of the Marquis of Carabas and was concerned about his fate, maybe more than any other character in the story. Not that I didn't like Richard, but the Marquis was more engaging. But that's true of the Wizard of Oz (film), too, which is numerously referenced in Neverwhere. Everyone has a favorite character from that classic film. Mine was and still is the Tin Man, although I think the most intrepid member of Dorothy's crew may well have been Toto. Richard, like Dorothy, spends much of his time wanting to go back home. In this upside-down fairy tale he gets his wish and then gets to change his mind. What I found most intriguing about Richard was that even though he has completely lost his identity in the London he knows and has become a walking metaphor of the homeless, faceless poor that try to live off the city streets with all-too-short a life, he never completely loses touch with who he is. No matter who he runs across in the strange societies of London Below, he never hesitates to introduce himself, with his full name, "I'm Richard Mayhew." Maybe he's just more polite than my fellow Americans, but I was impressed.

Another interesting aspect of Neverwhere is the idea of youth, and growing up. One could read the story of Richard's adventures in London Below as his maturation process. But I also saw it as a depiction of what it's like to be young in the city. City life and youth itself can be exciting, dirty, scary, sexy, even life-threatening. If Richard chose to return to his (our) normal world, he could always look back on his time with the Marquis and Door and the others as his wild youth, much like many of us have dim but pleasant memories of our own youthful escapades.

While reading Neverwhere I experienced echoes of other books I have recently read and enjoyed. As each step of Richard's journey took him closer to somewhere or someone even stranger or more dangerous than the last, reading can take you on a larger journey, from book to book, weaving a common thread through different stories. A few months back I read Rune by Christopher Fowler, whose Bryant and May mystery series I enjoy. Like Neverwhere, Rune is set in London with a male protagonist who doesn't yet realize he might like to break free from his relationship with a perfect woman who isn't perfect for him. An interesting yet offbeat young woman comes into his life and the story is off and running. More a horror story than fantasy, Rune still makes for a good read. In fact my only quibble with both books is that there is a lot, maybe too much, flowing blood. As good as both of these writers are, I was wondering how horrible Neverwhere's Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar could still have been without the need to be overly descriptive of half-eaten kittens and the like.

I also recently finished Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials series, with the wonderful female protagonist Lyra Silvertongue. These books start out in an alternate Oxford and then take off for worlds familiar and imaginary. I can't say enough about this great series of books, except that I look forward to my daughter being old enough to enjoy them. In the meantime I will most likely be reaching for Gaiman's latest and see where the book will take me and what other books and worlds I may discover on the way.