Quickie Reviews - The Gum Thief, Punch Line

Well, it's 6am, I've been awake three hours with no sleep in sight. Hey! Let's review some books!

The Gum Thief
by Douglas Coupland

Coupland, while never boring, is somewhat hit and miss with me. I've enjoyed everything I've read of his, but nothing has matched the genius of his first two novels Generation X and Microserfs. Hey Nostradamus! was terrific, but jPod was too much self-aware and a rehash of his former work, and Eleanor Rigby was an abundance of quirk with not enough substance. The Gum Thief, luckily, is one of his most enjoyable efforts.

Set in a STAPLES superstore, Gum concerns the lives of two of its denizens; Roger, a forty-something man burned out on life, and Bethany, a young goth chick who finds Roger deeply creepy. The story is told through diary entries, as Roger charts his day-to-day existence, and Bethany (after surreptitiously reading the diary) begins a sweet correspondence with him through the pages. Along the way, Coupland intersperses the dialogue with chapters from Roger's novel-in-progress Glove Pond, a hilariously bitter take on Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe?.

What drives Gum is the absolute sincerity of the two leads. These are deeply flawed people, and while Coupland is no gifted stylist, he again captures the zeitgeist of people floating free in a society they do not feel themselves a part of. I've always believed that Generation X is that generation's The Sun Also Rises, a snapshot of the era, and Gum's characters are firmly of that mold. It's Coupland's depth of feeling for his characters that has always been his strongest talent, and even when the book feels a little too 'couplandy' (copyright pending on that term, by the way), Roger and Bethany make it eminently worthwhile.

Funny, touching, insightful, and weird, The Gum Thief is Coupland's best in quite a while.

Grade - A-

Punch Line
by Joey Slinger

Punch Line is what some might call a 'noble failure,' but a failure it is.

The plot concerns a ragtag group of senior citizens confined to what some might charitably call a group home, but is in fact Hell. The group has taken upon itself to serve as a form of vigilante justice, meting out death to those them deem not worthy of life.

The strongest aspect of Punch Line is Slinger's take on the 'tragedy' of growing old. His characters, particularly lead protagonist Ballantine, are consumed by their task because society has deemed them to old to have a function. Therefore, their lives are desperately dull, and the sting of Slinger's satire is felt most deeply when he concentrates on this predicament.

However, Slinger has no control of his plot, and spins outlandish tales that remind me of the works of Robert Coover (especially Gerald's Party), except that Coover makes it work. Coover's slides into surrealism are always under control, whereas the bizarre antics in Punch Line seem forced and unwieldly, and never gel cohesively with the rest of the plot. The book as a whole feels schizophrenic, and ends up frustrating more often than it entertains.

Grade - C-

A response to a call-out

Maybe it’s that I’m in a slightly melancholy mood today; maybe it’s the sudden warming trend outside (-15 degrees? It’s like freakin’ Hawaii out there!); or maybe it’s irritation. Pick one. Whichever you choose it be, I have decided to respond to a ‘call out’ by a literary peer.

Yes, this is rather silly, and I enter it into the spirit in which is was intended, i.e. just for fun. Nevertheless, a call out is a call out, and if it be either a schoolyard scuffle or jailhouse rules free-for-all, dammit, I’m no chicken.

To summarize the events to date:

On my last post as online writer-in-residencec with Open Book Toronto, I made a snide little comment. To whit:

A friend suggested that I end on something controversial to get people talking, but that's not me. I have my opinions, but this is not the venue. Oh, but if you ever meet me in person, I have some doozies to get off my chest.

Okay, one quick rant.

The breathless anticipation of Dan Brown's next piece of hackneyed plotting to save the slumping publishing industry makes me weep uncontrollably. He's a horrible, horrible author truly undeserving of his fame. Seriously.

There, I said it. Let the hate mail commence!

So, there you have it. I know what you’re thinking; “Oooh, controversial!” I believe from the tone and context that you can surmise

a) it was all meant as a little joke, and

b) I don’t care that much for Dan Brown (Not the most surprising of sentiments from myself, if you’ve ever met me or read my novel [and if you haven’t, why are you still reading this?])

I thought that would be the end of it, but it appears this was not to be.

Last week, I was perusing the entries of Rick Blechta, my follow-up W-I-R at Open Book Toronto. I’m not familiar with Mr. Blechta’s work, but he’s written a slew of novels, and has been nominated for an Arthur Ellis Award, so he clearly knows his stuff. He also appears to be a nice guy.

But as I scanned, I came across the following:

My predecessor, Corey Redekop, took a run at this author in his last posting and it's rankled with me a bit ever since. This certainly won't be a flame, Corey, but I think it was a cheap shot on your part: say something controversial and then run for the door.

I don't think Dan Brown is a great author; I don't think he's a poor author, but he certainly isn't -- how did you put it? -- "a horrible, horrible author". What is that pronouncement based on? His prose is reasonably polished, sentence construction not bad, he makes his thoughts understood. A lot of published authors (and critically praised, too) don't do as well.

Now, Rick admits that Brown is no genius; “Dan's characters are not very well fleshed out. I didn't really know much more about what makes them tick when I got to the end of the book. Dan also gives one the feeling that all his historical pronouncements are based on fact and meticulous research. I think time has proven that this was not the case, and it was stupid on his part to present it so.” He concludes:

So why did the book sell so many copies? Because people got caught up in the story. I know that I did. When I finally turned the last page, I sat there wondering why I'd read the darn thing so breathlessly, but the fact of the matter was that I had. In speaking to other people, I found the book had had the same effect on them. There is certainly some writing skill involved if an author can do that.

Come on, Corey, his plots aren't what I would call "hackneyed". It had some neat twists and the puzzle aspect of it was pretty cool. Bottom line: Dan Brown can tell a good story.

I guess it could all be summed up like this: don't judge a book by its sales.

So, my response:

First, you’re right. It was a cheap shot. It was a joke, but maybe I should have backed it up. I think Dan Brown can handle the criticism (millions of dollars in sales do tend to create a comfortable buffer zone), but yeah, it was cheap.

And yes, while I could expound at length on my subjective view that Dan Brown’s prose is horrid, I could never reach the heights of Mark Steyn’s concise dissection of Brown’s style (and believe me, it kills me to agree with anything Steyn has to say).

But I take some offence at the notion that I do not care for him because of his sales. That’s silly. Many, many talented authors sell well, as do the no-talents. And many, many, many talented authors languish in obscurity, along with a healthy amount of hacks. The argument that Brown’s sales in some way cloud my judgment is laughable.

I do not like Dan Brown because (and I will not back down from this) Dan Brown is no good. I rarely read novels that cause me to physically throw the book across the room in disgust (repeatedly), but Brown achieved that distinction handily. Twice. I read Digital Fortress, and that novel took a severe beating. I read The Da Vinci Code because I felt it couldn’t be worse, and everyone was telling me it was so much better. Yeah. That copy was lucky it wasn’t mine; I probably would have fed it to the shredder otherwise. Brown’s prose is frankly awful, his grasp of narrative flow nonexistent, and his characters (as Rick notes) are so one-dimensional as to be invisible.

It is not his hackneyed plots. I fully subscribe to the notion that it is not the story that is important, but how it is told. Terrific fictions have been written from the most ridiculous ideas imaginable. Do I believe that vampires could destroy a small town? No, but Stephen King makes me believe it. Can I find it plausible that there are schools of witchcraft in England? Nope, but J.K. Rowling convinces me. Dan Brown does not convince me.

But maybe that’s too strict a guideline. What about the entertaining novels you never fully engage in? Sadly, Brown doesn’t even qualify as good pulp. Or good bad pulp. I never for a moment buy anything that occurs in The Destroyer series, but darned if I don’t read them (go Remo!).

Brown is awful, a one-trick pony whose trick ain’t that great. He has one plot, and recycles it again and again; the hero has 24 hours to overcome a series of ludicrous plot twists. There’s a killer with a weird physical quirk (a deaf-mute, an albino). There’s a mysterious mastermind behind it all whose identity is secret, yet is obvious to anyone who has sat through a few episodes of Murder, She Wrote.

Now, to give Brown credit, at least he presumably writes his own material, and has not taken to writing by committee a la James Patterson. He does a lot of research, and the stuff he digs up is kinda neat. But who cares, when the product is so poor?

I hope I’ve laid the criticism to rest. If you like Dan Brown, then fine. Different strokes, different folks. I care not if he sells a zillion copies of his next work. I would likely sell my soul for a piece of the action. But Rick, it is a cheap shot of your own to assume my dislike is based on sales or jealousy. I’ve inter-library loaned a few of your novels, and can’t wait to read them. Unlike Brown, I’m positive you’ve got talent.

Let’s lay the feud to rest, and agree to disagree. I don’t want to be like John Irving and Tom Wolfe sniping at each other like fifth-graders at recess.

Now, about James Patterson…ugh!

Why I look forward to summer

Hellboy 2. Iron Man. The Incredible Hulk.

All pale before the original. Enjoy.

At a Loss For Words by Diane Schoemperlen - review

At a Loss for Words
by Diane Schoemperlen

It may be trite to remark that romance, and all its iterations, is among the most employed themes in all of literature. Recent years’ examples have run the gamut in terms of quality, from the sublime intelligence of Stephen Marche’s Raymond and Hannah to the simpering idiocy of Paulo Coelho’s Eleven Minutes.

Diane Schoemperlen is no stranger to the passions and perils of the heart. The Canadian author has past mined this vein with great success with her novel In the Language of Love and her Governor General’s Award –winning short story collection Forms of Devotion.

Schoemperlen has proven herself both an excellent stylist and an expert navigator of human foibles. Unfortunately, her latest novel, At a Loss for Words, is supremely disappointing.

The unnamed narrator of Loss suffers from insomnia, has recently undergone a severe break-up, and is “a writer who cannot write.” Stumped for words and ideas, she turns to writers’ self-help books for inspiration, all of which spit out hackneyed advice along the lines of “Write on colored paper” and “Write about a time you were misunderstood.”

As she writes through her block, she begins to reveal facets of the relationship that has left her shattered. Walking through the steps of the romance from giddy first meeting to tear-soaked denouement, Schoemperlen shows an expert sense of pacing, portioning out the slow reveal with the sometimes-bizarre recommendations of the self-help books.

A reunion with a departed lover of thirty years previous, this new/old love at first leaves her in a state of unadorned bliss. “When you’re in love, every little thing furnished further evidence of the fact that the two of you are indeed fated to live together happily ever after.”

The lovers are immediately in a sugary worship of each other that leaves everything they utter or write dripping with syrup, capping each sentence with an exclamation point of idolization. “Look what love does to language,” Schoemperlen writes. “Either it sends you into breathless, shameless, hyperbolic logorrhea…or it leaves you wordless altogether.”

While it may have been Schoemperlen’s point to juxtapose this excessively purple prose with the reality of the ultimate betrayal, the dialogue is at first amusing, then irritating, and eventually exhausting. The narrator’s near-constant self-involvement may be realistic in terms of her pain, but as a narrative device it only serves to make her exceptionally unlikable, and distances the reader from any possible empathy with her plight.

As a result, At a Loss for Words, slight as it is, becomes a chore to finish. The final pages, complete with ‘you go, girl!’ conclusion, are tiresome and repetitive. A concluding twist near the end comes too late, as the reader is dulled into apathy.

There is personal truth and ache in what Schoemperlen writes about, and it leaks into the story in unexpected ways. “Sometimes I wish I could just put you back in the box where I used to keep you,” the narrator comments. “I guess I’m going to cut off your legs to fit you back in there.” Such barbs have the sting of authenticity, but they are too few and too far between to make any impact.

In Forms of Devotion, there is a wonderful story entitled “How to Write a Serious Novel About Love.” It is wise, witty, weird, and true, a spectacularly funny examination of the form while being itself a touching love story. It says more in fifteen pages than the whole of At a Loss for Words, and resonates far, far longer.

[Originally published in The Winnipeg Free Press, February 10, 2008]

The real finale of the Star Wars films, part II

[Originally published in Open Book Toronto]

And now, the continuation of eleven-year-old Corey Redekop's sci-fi masterpiece The Jedi's Revenge. It's just like Return of the Jedi, but shorter, and with no ewoks!

Again, all errors are kept intact for posterity's sake.
________

Boba Fett brought Solo to Jabba the Hut.

“How can I ever thank you for brining Solo to me alive?” Jabba asked.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Fett, “but I think I’ll stick around.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jabba as he marched Han down the street. When they got to his cell, Jabba undid Han’s handcuffs and pushed him in.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” said Jabba as he locked Han’s cell.

“Yeah,” said Solo gloomily.

*

Leia looked all around Mos Eisely for any trace of Luke. Finnally she came upon five stormtroopers, which immedietly began blasting at her. She ran past 3PO and R2. R2 immedietly started leaking oil.

“R2,” yelled 3PO, “Your leaking lubricant oil! Somebody could slip!” which is exactly what R2 wanted to do. The stormtroopers slipped and fell on the ground, Leia didn’t see it and still kept running. She turned a corner and ran smack into Chewbacca.

“Chewbacca!” yellef Leia. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see your face again.”

Chewbacca growled softly. Just then Luke and Lando ran up to her.

“Leia!” they both exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I got worried and came after you,” she replied. “And being chased by stormtroopers can lead anybody to you! Just then they heard footsteps.

“Stormtroopers!” Leai whisphered. “Let’s get out of here!” They escaped just in time.

*

Meanwhile Han Solo had been plotting to get out of his cell. He had no luck when suddenly a puff of smoke appeared. When it cleared, there stood Yoda and Ben, all covered with ashes and soot.

“Where are we?” Yoda asked.

“I think we’re in jail!” replied Ben.

“Old man!” exclaimed Han.

“Han, my boy!” whispered Ben. “Be quiet!”

“Who is he?” asked Yoda.

“Oh, I forgot,” replied Ben. “Yoda, this is Han. Han, this is Yoda.”

“And you’ll all be shot in the morning!” said a voice behind them. They all whirled. There stood Boba Fett, with a gun pointed at them.

“I thought I’d see how your doing,” he said, “and I see your doing fine. Come with me!” They started to follow, when Han jumped at Fett, who fired at him. Han fell to the floor, stunned.

*

Luke and his group split up again. 3PO and R2 went to a droid factory in serch of information. Suddenly two stormtroopers noticed them and chased them down the hall. Suddenly R2 stopped, which made 3PO fall over him.

“R2, why did you stop?” 3PO asked. Then he realizes they were in front of a large furnace. “Well, you have a point there. But how will we escape?” R2 immedietly shot an image of Princess Leia on the floor. The stormtroppers stopped and stared at the image. As they stared R2 charged, bowling over the troopers.

“R2, you did it,” yelled 3PO. “I never doubted you for a second

*

Meanwhile, Lando had his own stream of bad luck. He entered an old house, which had moss and leaves all over the floor. He was very tired, so he lied down on the floor to sleep. He did not notice the large shape on the wall.

As he slept, the large shape came off the wall toward him. It was a giant spider, nearly fifteen feet across! It crawled toward him, as silently as a cat. It picked him up so roughly that he awoke and realized what was happening to him. He struggled but could not get free of the large pincers. He reached for his lazer and fired at the monster.

The monster dropped him and turned away. Suddenly it flew into the air and crashed into the wall, killing it instantly. Lando turned and there was Chewbacca, grinning and him and growling at the spider.

“Chewy!” exclaimed Lando,” you came just in time!” They walked out of the house, and walked off.

*

Then Han awoke, he found himself chained to a wall with hardly any lights on it. In the shadows he could make out unfamiliar and familiar shapes. The most familiar shape was all black. Suddenly it stepped out of the shadows.
“Good evening,” it said.

“So…” Han snarled. “We meet again, Darth Vader!”

“Yes,” Vader answered. “We meet again.”

Han shouted, “You…” but he got a shock which shut him up fast. “What happened to Ben and Yoda?”

“They’re all right,” Vader replied, “but they won’t be if you try to escape.” All Han could do was snarl and think over his predicament.

*

Ben and Yoda were locked in separate cells. When the stormtroopers left, Yoda said:

“Why did you talk me into this? Luke is able to handle things!”

”I know, master,” replied Ben. “If only they didn’t take our lightsabers away!” Just then the guard came back.

“Boy,” he said, “there’s sure to be a crowd here soon.”

“Why?” asked Ben. “What’s happening?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” replied the guard. “You’re getting executed!”

*

Luke’s small group all met in desolate area behind a house.

“Anybody find anything?” Lando asked.

“All I know is that this city is swarming with stormtroopers!” replied C-3PO. “We were nearly caught!”

“Well, it’s not doing us any good!” Luke muttered. “Blast it! We’ve searched everywhere for nothing!”

“Hmm, maybe not,” Leia said under her breath.

“What’s that, Leia?” Lando asked.

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” she replied. “It’s of no importance.”

“Leia,” Luke said sternly. “I have a feeling your not telling us something.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” she said werrily. “Suppose there was a trapdoor or something that they could put Han inside to keep him hidden.”

“That’s impossible!” Lando disagreed. “It would take us weeks to find it.”

“That’s right, but it’s worth a shot!” Luke said. Why, even…”

“Sir,” 3PO interrupted. “R2 says the chances of finding it are two hundred fifty-six thousand to one!”

“I know,” replied Luke, “but we’ve got to try it! Lando and Chewy, you come with me. Leia, you go with the droids. We’ll meet back in two hours!”

Luke, Lando, and Chewy walked until they came to a dark street, They walked down it until the middle, because ten stormtroopers jumped around the corner and started blasting at them.

“Run!” Luke screamed, and tore out of the alley, with Lando and Chewbacca right behind them. The troopers were closing in fast. Just we he thought he was caught, he heard a scream, and he realized that it was himself. Then everything went black.

*

When Luke awoke, voices swarmed all around him. Then his sight and hearing cleared and formed a perfect picture.
“Rest easy,” said a voice. “You’ve had a hard day.”

“Ben?” Luke asked. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” replied Ben, “and Yoda’s here too.”

“Hello,” Luke said weakly. Suddenly he jumped up. “My friends!” he cried. “Where are Lando and Chewy?”

“Shh!” Ben said. “Get some rest, Luke, and then we’ll tell you.”

*

Meanwhile, Han had been put into another cell. He usually slept, so he didn’t hear all of the commotion around him. Then an arm shook him awake.

“Han,” somebody shouted, “wake up!” Han slowly opened his eyes. He was surprised to see happy faces all around him.

Suddenly he jumped up. “Lando,” he cried in astonishment. “Where did you come from?”

“Take it easy!” said Lando. “I’ll tell you what happened when Chewy gets here.”

Suddenly, two stormtroopers flew into the room and were knocked unconscious when they hit the floor. Then Chewbacca walked into the room.

“Chewy!” Han cried. “I thought I would never see your face again!” Chewy growled softly. “Now,” Han said seriously,” what are you doing here?

“Well, you see,” Lando explained, “Chewy and I were running from the stormtroopers, when Luke, who was right in front of us, was blasted by a laser.”

“When we saw what happened, we ducked into an alley. When the stormtroopers came, Chewy stuck his foot out and tripped them.” Lando grinned. “We forced them to tell us where you were. So here we are! We had a little trouble with the guards,” Lando said, pointing at the stormtroopers, “but Chewy took care of them.”

“Good work, Lando!” Han said admireably. “Now, let’s go find Luke.”

*

Will Han and Lando find Luke? Where's Leia? What the hell is going on anyway? Only one thing is for certain; someone is going to get hurt!