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juushikaTitle: The Telling (Hainish Cycle Book 8)
Author: Ursula K. Le Guin
Published: Houghton Mifflin, 2000
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 250
Total Page Count: 315,960
Text Number: 1096
Read Because: reading the series, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: An ambassador whose home planet recently deposed a theocracy comes to a planet dramatically and dogmatically altered by the spread of off-world technology. This feels similar to other Le Guin novels, especially other Hainish novels, and given the publishing chronology—the nearly 20-year gap between the first six books and the last three—it makes sense that Le Guin was reinterpreting, reanalyzing her prior tropes and themes. Present is another overland journey, effectively ubiquitous in Le Guin but here harrowing and wintery, thus reminiscent of The Left Hand of Darkness. Present also is the almost-but-not-quite monolithic alien culture—like Four Ways to Forgiveness, another later Hainish novel, it reproduces the "one issue per world/novel" structure endemic to the series, and pivots, thematically and in plotting, on the cultural and individual diversity that exists within a world/issue. And, like most Hainish novels, it's deceptively restrained and internal, the concept of the Telling harmonizing with Le Guin's insistence that worldbuilding and worldviews must be inhabited rather than explained. The Hainish novels by structure generally have outsider PoVs, and the more nuanced handling of cultural influence and an outsider savior feels like a revision of The Word for World is Forest. I reference these books because I can't see this one outside of its series—some of the earlier Hainish novels now feel dated, and not just stylistically; Le Guin's voice persists here, identifiable, evocative, but there's evidence of 20 years of cultural and personal growth, of a self-interrogation that compliments her books' themes. That's not a bad impression to have, as I approach the end of the series. But, perhaps because of the shorter length, The Telling never immersed me enough to knock me out of that meta-view; it doesn't have the scope or detail of my favorite books in the series.
Title: Hellsing
Author: Kohta Hirano
Translator: Duane Johnson
Published: Dark Horse, 1998-2009 (1997-2008)
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 1770 (176+192+164+200+144+144+144 +208 +208+192)
Total Page Count: 317,730
Text Number: 1097-1106
Read Because: reading the series, paperbacks borrowed from the Wilsonville Public Library
Review: This was so different from watching the anime or OVA, in part because the adaptations differ, in part because I've changed as a consumer in the years since I watched them. The heart of Hellsing is violence—committing to it, reveling in it, embracing and glorifying it, building meaningful relationships through antagonism, embracing the death drive—and it blossoms in the ostentatious art (except when the art style runs away with itself into incomprehensibility) and spawns engaging characters and scenes. But to make Nazis the architects and exemplars of this approach to violence isn't a neutral choice: as the manga briefly and inadequately addresses near the end, Nazi violence isn't reciprocal but is instead targeted; it's also not a fictional thought-experiment, but part of human history. So this undermines its own themes, and instead glorifies Nazi iconography and legitimizes the supernatural/technological fallacies of Nazism. That's gross, is what that is.
So it's impossible to turn off rational brain, which makes it harder to engage with in the violence. And it's imperative but difficult to separate art from artist, as the author's notes evidence an obnoxious, sexist persona. And some of the characters I loved best in the adaptations are unremarkable here (particularly Rip Van Winkle, but also Seras) while other characters have more depth (again, ironically, Seras; also Walter)—but this is more the product and joy of adaptation than a real criticism. As a final and petty sidenote, the cheap Dark Horse imprints I read are a blast from manga-localization past, and make the art even harder to interpret. This left me conflicted—I love it for what it can be, for what it occasionally manages to become, and almost certainly more than it deserves. But I can't see past its crucial flaws anymore.
Title: Experimental Film
Author: Gemma Files
Published: ChiZine Publications, 2015
Rating: 2 of 5
Page Count: 350
Total Page Count: 318,080
Text Number: 1107
Read Because: fan of the author, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: A film critic investigates the strange work of an divine-touched early female director. This has an array of clear, diverse influences—autism, film criticism, film history, cosmic horror; neuroatypicality as both vehicle for/rejection of artistic genius. It's unprettied and avoids most of the rhapsodizing and navel-gazing that plagues narratives about art and artists, thanks largely to the prickly, unreliable protagonist. I found her irritating, discomforting; flawed, honest, relatable. She grew on me, but the surrounding mystery never did. The cosmic horror elements have a unique manifestation, but they're nowhere near as devastating or awesome as I've seen Files write in the Hexslinger series. And so this feels too small, made complex only by narrative contrivance, with standard underlying plot beats and a central character arc that resolves too nicely and ties too neatly to the diverse but distinct plot elements. I expected to like it more—I've loved Files so much elsewhere!—but for me it was just okay.
Author: Ursula K. Le Guin
Published: Houghton Mifflin, 2000
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 250
Total Page Count: 315,960
Text Number: 1096
Read Because: reading the series, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: An ambassador whose home planet recently deposed a theocracy comes to a planet dramatically and dogmatically altered by the spread of off-world technology. This feels similar to other Le Guin novels, especially other Hainish novels, and given the publishing chronology—the nearly 20-year gap between the first six books and the last three—it makes sense that Le Guin was reinterpreting, reanalyzing her prior tropes and themes. Present is another overland journey, effectively ubiquitous in Le Guin but here harrowing and wintery, thus reminiscent of The Left Hand of Darkness. Present also is the almost-but-not-quite monolithic alien culture—like Four Ways to Forgiveness, another later Hainish novel, it reproduces the "one issue per world/novel" structure endemic to the series, and pivots, thematically and in plotting, on the cultural and individual diversity that exists within a world/issue. And, like most Hainish novels, it's deceptively restrained and internal, the concept of the Telling harmonizing with Le Guin's insistence that worldbuilding and worldviews must be inhabited rather than explained. The Hainish novels by structure generally have outsider PoVs, and the more nuanced handling of cultural influence and an outsider savior feels like a revision of The Word for World is Forest. I reference these books because I can't see this one outside of its series—some of the earlier Hainish novels now feel dated, and not just stylistically; Le Guin's voice persists here, identifiable, evocative, but there's evidence of 20 years of cultural and personal growth, of a self-interrogation that compliments her books' themes. That's not a bad impression to have, as I approach the end of the series. But, perhaps because of the shorter length, The Telling never immersed me enough to knock me out of that meta-view; it doesn't have the scope or detail of my favorite books in the series.
Title: Hellsing
Author: Kohta Hirano
Translator: Duane Johnson
Published: Dark Horse, 1998-2009 (1997-2008)
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 1770 (176+192+164+200+144+144+144 +208 +208+192)
Total Page Count: 317,730
Text Number: 1097-1106
Read Because: reading the series, paperbacks borrowed from the Wilsonville Public Library
Review: This was so different from watching the anime or OVA, in part because the adaptations differ, in part because I've changed as a consumer in the years since I watched them. The heart of Hellsing is violence—committing to it, reveling in it, embracing and glorifying it, building meaningful relationships through antagonism, embracing the death drive—and it blossoms in the ostentatious art (except when the art style runs away with itself into incomprehensibility) and spawns engaging characters and scenes. But to make Nazis the architects and exemplars of this approach to violence isn't a neutral choice: as the manga briefly and inadequately addresses near the end, Nazi violence isn't reciprocal but is instead targeted; it's also not a fictional thought-experiment, but part of human history. So this undermines its own themes, and instead glorifies Nazi iconography and legitimizes the supernatural/technological fallacies of Nazism. That's gross, is what that is.
So it's impossible to turn off rational brain, which makes it harder to engage with in the violence. And it's imperative but difficult to separate art from artist, as the author's notes evidence an obnoxious, sexist persona. And some of the characters I loved best in the adaptations are unremarkable here (particularly Rip Van Winkle, but also Seras) while other characters have more depth (again, ironically, Seras; also Walter)—but this is more the product and joy of adaptation than a real criticism. As a final and petty sidenote, the cheap Dark Horse imprints I read are a blast from manga-localization past, and make the art even harder to interpret. This left me conflicted—I love it for what it can be, for what it occasionally manages to become, and almost certainly more than it deserves. But I can't see past its crucial flaws anymore.
Title: Experimental Film
Author: Gemma Files
Published: ChiZine Publications, 2015
Rating: 2 of 5
Page Count: 350
Total Page Count: 318,080
Text Number: 1107
Read Because: fan of the author, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: A film critic investigates the strange work of an divine-touched early female director. This has an array of clear, diverse influences—autism, film criticism, film history, cosmic horror; neuroatypicality as both vehicle for/rejection of artistic genius. It's unprettied and avoids most of the rhapsodizing and navel-gazing that plagues narratives about art and artists, thanks largely to the prickly, unreliable protagonist. I found her irritating, discomforting; flawed, honest, relatable. She grew on me, but the surrounding mystery never did. The cosmic horror elements have a unique manifestation, but they're nowhere near as devastating or awesome as I've seen Files write in the Hexslinger series. And so this feels too small, made complex only by narrative contrivance, with standard underlying plot beats and a central character arc that resolves too nicely and ties too neatly to the diverse but distinct plot elements. I expected to like it more—I've loved Files so much elsewhere!—but for me it was just okay.
no subject
Date: 2019-06-30 06:46 pm (UTC)