Mark's Musings

A while ago — too long ago now for me to remember when — I was given a copy of Robert Jordan’s The Eye of the World. My Aunt knew I liked to read fantasy and science fiction, and she thought this would be something I would enjoy. I put off reading it for a while. I’m not sure why. But eventually I did pick it up after I saw that a sequel for it had come out.

I thought it wasn’t bad. Not great, but it held some promise. The world-building was interesting even if the characters were kind of flat for me. The story itself was fine, albeit nothing special. I decided to get a copy of the sequel to see if Jordan had improved over time.

Funny story: he didn’t.

I didn’t care for the second book, The Great Hunt, very much. The only thing I found interesting was the exploration of the magic system, and the hints here and there of the mythology and history of the world. The characters were once again kind of flat, and the story was only so-so. I went on to read the third book anyway, just because I thought it would complete the split trilogy.

I should pause here and explain what I mean by that. I’m not sure there’s an official term for it, but what I call a split trilogy is one where a work of fiction is created, whether it be a book or a film, and it does well enough that the owner of the property decides to extend it to a trilogy. In other words, the first book is a complete story in and of itself, and then books two and three comprise a two-part sequel. This happened with films like “Star Wars”, and books like Thomas Covenant. I’m not using this term to disparage the phenomenon, just to describe it.

I thought, after all the set-up he put into book two, Jordan was going after a split trilogy. The third book, alas, just raised more questions than it answered, and I decided enough was enough. I dropped the series and moved on, content to forget about Rand, Merry, and Pippin.

Every so often, I’d see a new release in the bookshops. Book four came out, and I was glad to not buy it. Book five came out and I barely gave it a second glance. When book eight came out I was taken by surprise because I’d missed seeing six and seven. Eight books, I laughed to myself. Man, was I ever so glad I didn’t get suckered into reading this series.

When book nine came out, I laughed again, but not quite as hard. Schadenfreude can only go so far. Then book ten came out and I felt bad for having laughed. It finally dawned on me that people were reading this series — it was hitting the bestseller lists! OK, maybe it got better? Maybe Jordan was becoming a skilled storyteller? Was I missing out?

I scoured the internet for the reviews, and I saw they were mixed and leaning towards thumbs down. Some people loved them, to be sure, but my impression was that the stories were getting slower and slower as the series progressed.

Basically, it seemed like most people were gritting their teeth and getting through it because of the promise of an amazing climax. But was there any guarantee of it being satisfying? Did Jordan’s skill as a writer indicate that he would be able to pull off the monumental story resolution that the books promised? As my magic eight-ball says: all signs point to “no”. When book eleven came out, I hit full-on pity for the readers.

Jordan himself, during a Question and Answers session at a Dragon*Con almost five years ago, said that he would finish the series in book twelve. I didn’t see how that could be possible, given the shear number of plot threads going on. OK, maybe “possible” should read “satisfying”? Anyway, I vaguely followed the development of book twelve on and off over the years, just to see.

And then, sadly, Jordan passed away.

(To be continued)

[Update: it is continued in this blog entry]

Dreams are strange beasts. An amalgamation of sights, sounds, and feelings that your mind throws together and attempts to interpret, a dream can leave a lasting impression, or it can leave the merest hint of a memory that is soon gone forever.

As a child, I would sometimes have dreams that ended in falling from a great height. Whether it was from heading over a cliff, or being pushed out an airplane, or being thrown up into the air by an animal or car crash, the dreams tended to end just before I hit the ground. They were always frightening. I think “panic” is the right word to use to describe my state immediately upon waking, although back then I don’t think I really knew the proper term for it.

As I grew older, I found that, once in a while, I was aware I was dreaming. I’d get a moment or two to influence the course of events before either forgetting it was a dream and losing control, or just simply waking up. Occasionally this lucidity would coincide with falling (or being about to fall) and I’d somehow convince my dream to let me fly instead.

I grew older still, and I grew better at dream control along the way. More and more falling dreams would convert to flying, until I became able to fly without having to have the awareness that I was dreaming. The fall would convert by itself to flight, and life was good. I stopped waking up in panic mode and, instead, would sleep right through the dream with perhaps a pleasant memory of a voyage over treetops, or through a cityscape.

Recently, however, I have begun to experience the occasional fall again, accompanied by the sudden panicky burst into wakefulness, and I have Brandon Sanderson to thank for that. Sanderson is a science fiction / fantasy author who invented a universe in which people can consume metals in order to do magic. And I do mean consume: the metal must be inside the stomach in order to have an effect.

One of the metals (steel) gives the ability to push other metals away simply by thinking about it. A limited form of telekinesis, if you will. By “burning” the ingested steel, a person can fly if the metal being “pushed” in this fashion happens to be on the ground. Instead of the metal being pushed away, something akin to Newton’s third law kicks in, and the burner (known as a “misting” for reasons beyond the scope of this post) is flung upwards into the sky. Carefully controlled, a misting can fly through the air, pushing this way or that against metal on the ground, until his or her supply of steel is exhausted.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up one night from a fall, only to realise my silly brain had decided that I would not fly because I had run out of steel to burn. Not every flying dream ends this way, although each time one does I get a little more annoyed. I really must work out how to convince my dream-self to carry a small vial of steel shavings to consume at a moment’s notice.

It’s not often that an author can leave such an impression that his or her world follows me into my dreams, but Sanderson managed it. Well done, sir.

A while ago, probably some time last summer, I had tried to get Alec to read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It didn’t work. I’m not sure if it’s his personality, or if it’s my approach, but whenever I show him a book or mention a TV show he might like, his immediate response is “I’m not interested.”

Fast forward to last week. He has been assigned a reading project in which he is required to read a new book and write a book report on it. The cutesy-third-grade aspect is that the book report comes in the form of a sandwich, with each element of the sandwich (bread, lettuce, meat, onion, &c) a different aspect of the book report. So I took him to the library and he picked out some books. When he got home, I asked him which one he wanted for his book report.

He just looked at me for a moment, and then sheepishly admitted that all he picked out were a few Encyclopedia Brown books.

I saw my opening, and I took it. I told him that he was to go into his room, look through all the books in there, and find one he hasn’t read before. He came back with two books: one with Dragon in the title, and the other, Charlie.

“Which one do you want for your book report?” I asked.

“I’ll do Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” he said. “But it’s got 24 chapters and I need to read it in 14 days, so I have to read one or two chapters per day.”

“OK,” I said, hopefully without looking too happy, as parents being happy is the surest way to making kids feel miserable. “Better get started.”

I checked in on him a bit later, and he was already halfway through. I think this means that the only way I’m going to get him to read the good books is by tricking him into it. There must be a better way, but I’ll take my victories where I can.

Via Raph Koster‘s site, I learned of The Guardian’s list of 1,000 books everyone must read. Scrolling through the list, I discovered some in each category that I have read, so I feel at least a bit rounded. But most of my "read" books on that list are from the Science Fiction & Fantasy section, which would probably come as no surprise to those who know me.

I think it’s a bit of a cheat, though, when they list "series" of books (they include two: Earthsea and Discworld), but then only list Philosopher’s Stone from the Harry Potter series, and split out half a dozen Wodehouse.

Anyway, let’s assume I can read one book a week. That means it would take me between nineteen and twenty years to read them all. I do have a head start, at least, but not by as much as I would like. Moreover, I ought not to be just be reading them so that I can say that I read them, and it clearly must not be a “race” (will I finish the list before I kick it?). So I’ll take this list as a suggestion instead, as in: Here are a lot of great novels, so consider these first when casting about for something to read.

Bonus: many of them are old enough now to be able to get in ebook form for free.
Counter-bonus: I find reading books on a computer (or my pda, for that matter) to be awkward.
Counter-counter bonus: we have a great library in town.

Maybe it’s time to get a Kindle?