Nocturnes, by Kazuo Ishiguro

Even when he is mediocre, Kazuo Ishiguro is still pretty good. I found these stories strangely magnetic, even though they never really came together for me. The voice was uniform throughout, despite the fact that each was narrated by someone else, and the prose was vaguely annoying. It was more American than British, and somehow saccharine and cloying. Although the stories purported to be meditations on music and nightfall, the music seemed more like a pretext, and didn't really infiltrate the stories. Attempts to interweave the tales felt hamfisted and unnecessary: the characters weren't developed enough that knowing something about them from a previous episode made any difference. Still, you did somehow want to keep reading, and there was something compelling about the twists and turns of the interactions between the characters. Overall though, a surprisingly weak effort from such a gifted author.

Some Oscars contenders...

Awards season is a guilty pleasure of sorts; I can't resist wanting to have an informed opinion about the nominees. So I've been obediently tromping off to see the films (some of which I would have checked out anyways, others maybe not). In brief, my take on what I've seen so far -- 

Dallas Buyers Club
Saw this one last night. Pretty much exactly what you'd expect. It's not bad, it's just... what you'd expect. Actually, to be fair, it was more understated than I expected. They didn't full-on Hollywood it up with super heavy-handed conversions and moralizing, so that's a big point in its favor. McConaughey and Leto both delivered excellent performances and I wouldn't be surprised (or especially upset) if either won. The critique of the FDA and big pharmaceuticals is certainly timely and appreciated, but the movie can't quite decide how hard it wants to ride that angle as opposed to the other potential plot lines (he was homophobic, and now he's forced to interact with lots of gays and seems to come around, mostly kinda! he is confronting death! maybe there is a romance with a doctor! actually this other character played by Jared Leto has a lot of stuff going on that maybe we could look into?) so it ends up doing a wee bit of all of them, and seeming rather tepid overall.

American Hustle
My friend Colleen posted a link to this Slate piece that makes some pretty good points, though it's awfully harsh. I liked American Hustle. I will not be surprised if it wins Best Picture. It's a very pleasant and amusing film. Everyone is likeable and it makes you feel warm and fuzzy in all the right not-too-schlocky ways. David O. Russell is pretty adept at emotion; this movie errs more to the cuddly side than Silver Linings Playbook (which I apparently never posted about, but really liked -- I thought it managed to balance hilarious hijinks and serious consequences very well), which is slightly to its detriment, but yeah, it's fun to watch. The acting is solid, though I think Christian Bale is the only one who might actually deserve an award. The others are good, but they don't do anything particularly extraordinary -- I think Bale does a pretty remarkable tragicomic sort of thing that is a cut above the rest. And I really don't like him, so that's saying something.

Philomena
This is unlikely to win anything, but it's a charmer! I thought it was going to be high drama and grim suffering, but it's a delightfully comedic treatment of pretty heavy material. Judi Dench was a "fallen" woman whose child was essentially stolen by evil nuns, and after 50 years, she makes a big push to find him, with the help of Steve Coogan, a journalist who has been sacked (unfairly, we surmise, but we don't really know why). It's pretty much all winning Irish humor, but it's not too twee about it, and the emotional restraint of it allows for some genuinely moving moments. There is some interesting subtle reflection on the nature of forgiveness (in one particular scene, the media is slyly compared to the nuns in a way I found very smart), but the subtlety that saves the film from emotional bombast also makes it somewhat too understated for greatness, perhaps.

12 Years a Slave
I think Steve McQueen is an incredible film-maker (though I didn't like Shame, in hindsight, I still think the film is kind of fascinating visually. Oddly, given the man's genius in terms of visuals, the McQueen exhibit at Chicago's Art Institute was kind of disappointing), and this film definitely blew me away. Much like Hunger, it's sparse on narrative but cinematographically lush. He can do so much with visuals, it's just astonishing. There is one scene in particular that I immediately think of when I remember this film (I saw it almost a month ago) -- when the main character is tied to a branch by his neck, struggling to stay on tip-toes so as not to choke. The camera pans back and we see that he is in this luxuriant green space, and children are playing nearby. It's such a powerful contrast, it delivers this intense punch to the gut. What is remarkable about the film, to me, is how totally unrelenting it is. It does not give you even a moment of respite; the kind of normalcy other movies like this let you feel just to ease up for a second. Here, everything is pervaded by this stark atrocity, and the film never lets you forget that even these moments of ostensible human contact are underwritten by this awful brutality. Yet, the film in no way feels gratuitous or sensationalistic. It's astonishing, and unbelievably powerful. I think the actors all do a great job, but it's McQueen who should get the award, if you ask me.

I saw Blue Jasmine last summer (and loved it) -- Blanchett should absolutely get the Oscar -- and Gravity not that long ago (liked it, though no way does Bullock get the award, and sorry Cuaron, but my vote is for McQueen). Still need to see: August: Ossage County, Wolf of Wall Street, Inside Llewyn Davis, Her, and I guess Nebraska, though I do not particularly like Payne's movies (despised The Descendants and didn't much like Sideways either).

Oh! I did not post about Captain Phillips when I saw it, so my brief take:
It was far more nuanced than expected, which I appreciated, though the complexity was more in the ambiguous feeling about American military might than genuinely delving into the lives of the Somali pirates. There was some gesturing in that direction, but they were still pretty Other, to use the technical terms, heh heh. But overall, I was surprised by how good the movie was. Tom Hanks was solid, aside from the wretched accent. His final scene was just unbelievably amazing. It's just jaw-droppingly good. I feel like I understand shock and post-traumatic stress in a whole new way now. He is incredible. Very surprised he didn't get a nomination for that (as I guess are plenty of other people). But it's Barkhad Abi who steals the show as the pirate. He is mesmerizing.

I just saw Cutie and the Boxer, which I really liked, but not having seen the others I can't wholeheartedly give it my vote. I should post about it though, it's a great film. I just saw Le Passé and it absolutely should have been nominated (I guess it didn't because A Separation won, which I also just watched as really liked, but I'm sorry, The Past is better!) but I haven't seen the others, so I can't assess.

So, my votes:
Best Picture: I suspect it will go to American Hustle. I need to see more of the movies before I decide who I'd WANT it to go to.
Best Actor: Hard to say without seeing Bruce Dern or Leo, but I think I'm voting Bale. McConaughey could get it though. Chiwetel Ejiofor is good and I certainly won't be disappointed if he wins, but he's not my top choice.
Best Actress: Blanchett, absolutely. And I think she has a good shot.
Best Supporting Actor: Barkhad Abi, I hope I hope. I hear Jonah Hill is great, but I really want Abi to win. Jared Leto is kind of a dark horse; my cynical side thinks he might be exactly the kind of thing the Academy would go for, but I am not so sure about these things anymore.
Best Supporting Actress: too tough to call. Sally Hawkins is great and I love her, but I doubt she'll win. I would be delighted if she did though.
Best Director: Steve McQueen should win. For sure. I will be kind of pissed if he doesn't.

The Dinner, by Herman Koch

I pretty much hated this one. A friend recommended it to me, and then I heard it compared to Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl (which I quite liked), so I figured I'd check it out. It is not like Gone Girl at all. I have no idea why people even draw that comparison, except maybe that it's bound to increase Koch's sales. So, basically, this is the story of two couples (two brothers and their wives) who get together for dinner. It gradually emerges that they are to discuss a problem, and after awhile we gather than it's a problem related to their sons. But this is no Carnage (maybe that's the problem, is that I kept wishing it was because that was funny and I liked it). Instead, we get all kinds of flashbacks that tell us more and more about the main character and the backstory to the evening as it builds towards its "shocking" denouement.

Except that I didn't find it shocking. I found it somewhat plodding, actually, and awfully contrived. The more you learn about the narrator, the less sense his relationships with other characters make. And the less you like him. Instead of becoming more human and complex, he becomes increasingly ridiculous, a collections of traits that are evermore lurid. The author seems to be straining to imagine what it would be like to be such a person, and the result is completely unconvincing. This cartoonishness ripples out onto the other characters, and for me at least, the whole thing falls apart.

Tower of Glass, by Robert Silverberg

I don't read much sci-fi/fantasy, because I tend to find the extensive exposition somewhat tedious, and the ideas vaguely juvenile. A totally unfair generalization, I'm sure, but there you have it. The Glass Tower, however, was highly recommended by two friends whose opinions I trust, and it isn't that long (sorry, Game of Thrones fans), so I gave it a whirl. And enjoyed it. 

I will say up front that the book does suffer from the flaws of the typical sci-fi works. The writing is perfunctory, and you have to be willing to overlook things like characters named Thor and grandiose titles and classifications and explanations. But it also has the strengths of the best examples of its kind: interesting ideas, and the sense of exploring a possible future and considering its probability. The characters aren't as fleshed out as one might like, but there's enough there to care about them. 

One of the more major themes of the book is an underlying question of how political change happens, and the role of religion versus political action. Its perspective on the issue is, perhaps, a bit drastic, but the way it plays out is interesting. There is also a question of what it means to be human, which follows somewhat predictable paths of thought, but I appreciated the importance granted to sexuality.

All in all, an interesting book. Not a must-read, but certainly a pleasant way to pass an hour or two. And as my friends pointed out, it really does cry out to be made into a movie.

The Puffy Chair / Safety Not Guaranteed

So, apparently I never posted my thoughts on Cyrus or The Do-Deca-Pentathlon, and when I wrote about Jeff, Who Lives at Home, I was kind of meh about it. This is odd, because I have in the meantime decided that I Like the Duplass Brothers' movies, and I'm surprised I never said so before. All three of those films, I think, are in some ways kind of exactly what you'd expect a quirky, small, independent American film to be, but hey, they work. They find a fine balance between sweetness and sap, comic and melancholy, acerbic and tender. The characters are odd but believable, the situations ridiculous yet somehow familiar. So, I was looking forward to seeing The Puffy Chair, having heard it was one of their better works, and indeed, it was exactly what I expected, and I loved it. My boyfriend, who has not seen as many of their movies and was not entering into it with the same expectations, was rather less impressed. But I thought i was extremely clever. Then, a week later, I watched Safety Not Guaranteed. I thought it was also a Duplass brothers film, and was somewhat puzzled, watching it, because it seemed sort of in their wheelhouse, but not nearly as well done. Turns out, it's just that Mark Duplass stars in it -- neither brother seems to have been involved in the writing or directing. And it shows -- the movie is sort of charmingly quirky and has an original plot, but the tone is slightly off, and it's a bit too mopey-sappy, and overall much less clever. Not a bad movie, just not an especially great one. Definitely would've been better if the Duplass brothers had done it...

The thing is, the Duplass bros are very skilled at the craft of writing. Their plots have this elegant construction; a dense network of repetitions and allusions and resurfacing motifs and reversals that makes my analytical engine purr. The Puffy Chair begins on the eve of a guy's departure on a brief road trip: he will pick up a chair that he bought from a guy on craigslist and deliver it to his father as a surprise birthday present. He's having dinner with his girlfriend, and it rapidly becomes clear that there are some definite problems in their relationship. Minor scuffles? The kinds of arguments couples have as they're transitioning into a more serious relationship and jockeying for position in setting personal boundaries? Or symptoms of major underlying incompatibilities? We can't tell. But the result is, she is now going on the trip with him. They stop by his brother's house on the way, and lo and behold, then there were three. So now we have this somewhat tense relationship, plus this wackadoo unpredictable hippy brother. And hilarious hijinx ensue.

What's so great about this film is the way it conveys a sense of absurdity in these fantastically trivial yet strangely insurmountable obstacles, and the way they escalate. A guy dramatically trapped in a van and unable to go to the bathroom that is a mere 10 feet away, for a totally stupid yet completely understandable reason. A screaming fight where a guy simply will not open a door. How ridiculous is it to make threats at someone who is safely behind a closed door? Bragaddocio and the struggle to reconcile sensitivity and masculinity are a wonderful subplot in the movie, as is the balance between laid back emo hippy-ness and pragmatic rationality, and of course, how relationships work, and how you know if someone is truly "the one." It's a warm and tender movie that is also hilariously funny and fantastically clever. Highly recommended (by me. Less so by my boyfriend).

Safety Not Guaranteed has a more unconventional storyline -- a journalist and his two interns try to write a story about a guy (played by Mark Duplass) who has placed an ad in the paper looking for someone to time travel with him. Who is this kook? is the initial angle, but one of the interns, a somewhat troubled young woman, begins to form a relationship with the guy. So, at this point, I'm cringing because you know, inevitably the dude will realize she's been lying to him, and that will be no good. What's worse is that the movie is leaving it open-ended as to whether or not this guy is a kook. Socially maladjusted, no doubt. Actually crazy? Unclear. Are we meant to like him, or mock him? Unsure. Which really alienates me as a viewer, and makes me very uncomfortable. Meanwhile, the main journalist is also visiting an old fling, and trying to get the other intern, a nerdy South Asian guy, laid. At its best moments, the movie offers scenes of what feels like genuine, honest interactions between people, and interesting echoes among these various situations. The ambivalent space between seeing someone as a misunderstood genius or a person with serious mental problems or just a jerk is not uninteresting, but it's difficult to pull off, and this film doesn't quite succeed. Also, the mopey indie rock soundtrack is borderline unbearable for me.

Whereas Safety Not Guaranteed feels a bit precious and contrived, The Puffy Chair, to me at least, had this amazing quasi-documentary effect, where it felt like it was just showing you some stuff that happened, rather than dutifully following along the steps of a plot. Its quirky characters were decidedly imperfect, and occasionally seemed like complete jerks, but they always seemed compelling to me somehow, even when I didn't like them. Whereas in Safety Not Guaranteed, the characters skated dangerously close to cliche, and many of their eccentricities seemed designed specifically to make them seem more real, but did the opposite. Thus, the emotional developments between them seemed to proceed along exactly the lines you'd expect, and felt somewhat hollow. Whereas in The Puffy Chair, you had a sense that anything could happen, and the things that did not happen resonated beautifully with other moments of the plot but never seemed dictated by them. It's a really artful construction, and my favorite kind, where the creators manage to find this delicate balance between organization and chaos, inviting you to perceive patterns in reality without making you feel like they have created them.

We Need New Names, by NoViolet Bulawayo

Some readers will be thrown, I think, by the loose structure and lack of a clearly mapped narrative arc in this book. It's not exactly a collection of vignettes, or moments: it's more like, stuff is happening. The book begins in Zimbabwe (though I might only know that from blurbs -- I'm not sure you ever learn in the book itself?) with a girl named Darling describing her adventures with her friends. Then, she goes to America, to Michigan. The novel feels like a work with strong links to an oral tradition, not only in the style -- a chapter might begin with "So I asked my aunt..."" for example -- but also because it's evoking a world, and a character, rather than circumscribing a specific event, or organizing a plot. It's a wonderful read because it so compellingly and successfully captures Darling's voice, and its subtle shifts over time, not because it delivers some kind of message, or even story. It manages to be a vivid examination of a character's state of being without any of the usual conventions of psychological inquiry we are used to. A remarkable book, definitely worth reading.

A Gate at the Stairs, by Lorrie Moore

I am tempted to ascribe the strangeness of this novel to the fact that Lorrie Moore writes excellent short stories, but I'm not sure if that really explains it. Certainly, the prose is excellent; absorbing and occasionally lyrical. I particularly liked the repeated tic of random interjections ending with exclamation marks, which somehow perfectly evokes a goofy, awkward young woman's inner monologue. The narration is slightly stilted, in that it is occasionally retrospective ("I would later know that this was x") but often presented with a certain immediacy ("I had only wanted to please and surprise her, but now I suddenly felt very tired."). This makes the references to future knowledge slightly distracting. Though it is an effective tool, I think, in conveying dawning awareness. One of the more interesting things about the novel is that chronicles how a person's thinking changes in college (though I might be particularly inclined to view it that way because I first heard of it in the n+1 article about the "Theory generation"), and this, I think, is what the shifting tenses are especially good for, giving a sense of before, after, and the murky in between of transition, where you are neither before nor after.

The problem is, the plot is just annoying. There are three climaxes, of sorts, in the book, or rather, three scenes that involve a kind of culmination of crisis. All three come across as slightly absurd, and not at all real. They seem senselessly unfortunate and stupid, in an instantly alienating way that deprives you of any sympathy for the characters. Two are especially annoying because they feel like an attempt to be timely, and reflect something about the realities of our historical moment. But the two events described (I don't want to spoil it by giving them away) are not at all typical, which makes their inclusion feel especially ham-fisted (especially BOTH of them). Admittedly, this is exactly how real life works; those weird rare things do happen to someone, and that person's life goes on, and the event is precisely an odd intrusion into some kind of normalcy. One a purely narrative level, this is really tricky to pull off in a novel, because these massive events shift the weight of the whole and exert a kind of magnetic force on the plot, creating the expectation that the entire book is really "about" them, otherwise, why include them at all? I appreciate, I suppose, that Moore makes the attempt, but I don't think it is especially successful.

The novel also aims at socio-political commentary with a sub-plot about a white couple who has adopted a biracial baby. This is harder to evaluate. The mother holds weekly get-togethers with parents of mixed race children, and it seems that their earnest discussions are being presented with a veneer of ironic contempt. There is certainly something distasteful about the mother's self-satisfied and self-righteous droning on about various race-related issues, which also made me feel vaguely hopeless. For instance; she renames the baby Emma. And then is criticized for not giving her a name like Maya or Zora. Or she is attacked for not braiding the baby's hair but instead leaving it in an Afro. And I dunno, I mean, to me stuff like this sort of epitomizes a lot of the shitty aspects of American race relations, and how this stuff is all fraught and gross and there is no right way to deal with it, but getting all upset and melodramatic about it is a weird way in which white liberals make it all about themselves again, and can't we all just be people and not get hung up on this crap, but then that too can seem like denying the problem, etc. The uncomfortableness of it is, I think, what makes the book actually quite insightful, in a strange sort of way. It doesn't give you the satisfaction of a right answer. It drags you into the mess and forces you to stay in that space between the weird racism of the smug white liberal and the more crude, brutal and disgusting run-of-the-mill variety, except that maybe it only does that if you're someone who is thoughtful and critical about race issues and primed to be hyper-vigilant when they come up in fiction? Although race is mentioned, it doesn't have any sort of narrative arc, which makes me wonder if someone could overlook it, unless the novel is counteracting that by making it insistently resurface in little everyday ways that suggest that maybe it can't actually be forgotten.

More broadly, the frustrating thing about the book is that the story doesn't really develop or go anywhere. Stuff happens, but it doesn't feel organized or contained by the plot. It is more like an arbitrary slice of the film reel, or one damn thing after another. There are these great moments -- sometimes only a few sentences long -- that you really appreciate, and are glad to have read. But they seem almost too solitary; the novel feels like a string of pearls, except with no string. Hence my theory that Moore's true métier is the short story...