Sketchy Details

Cannonball Read 2: Book 11: Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts by Mark Twain

I'm obsessed with unfinished manuscripts. It's true. I take comfort in knowing that many writers (my guess is all of them except Stephen King) have writing they just never get around to finishing for one reason or another. For some, it's death. For others, it's the inability to find the right tone. And for others, it's utter craziness on the part of trying to recapture their childhood memories through a quasi-religious exploration of the nature of angels and the corruption of Catholicism. 

I'm writing, of course, about Mark Twain's No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger: Being an Ancient Tale Found in a Jug and Freely Translated from the Jug. Or is it Mark Twain's The Chronicle of Young Satan? Or is it Mark Twain's Schoolhouse Hill?

The answer is all three.

Mark Twain began work on his unfinished novel/story/novel/fragment around 1890, and continually churned out new chapters/versions/settings and burned large middle passages for twenty years. His obsession was only stopped by death. After his death, a well-meaning editor, Albert Bigelow Paine, published The Mysterious Stranger, A Romance with substantial edits and a new ending he swore he found in Twain's manuscripts. He didn't. It was a fraud and the entire effort was to protect Twain from accusations of sacrilege against Catholicism and other organized face. He also thought the tone was way out of sync with the rest of the canon and merged the humorous events from two manuscripts into the more serious plot of another to produce his edition. I have also read this version knowing it wasn't entirely real and still enjoyed it.

The basic conceit is fascinating and probably accounts for how I can't stop reading all the supposed true versions of the manuscripts. A group of young boys in a small village--sometimes in Austria, sometimes in America--stumble upon a mysterious stranger in a park. The stranger can produce many magical feats, such as providing food and bringing life to clay, and eventually introduces himself as Satan. No, not the prince of darkness; this is Satan's nephew, practically a child himself in the slow growth of angels. He is without sin, as only his uncle was foolish enough to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, fight God, and be banished to eternal damnation. Young Satan lives by a literal code of mercy, where the only answer to end sustained suffering is preemptive death. Seeing as he can (or can't, or kind of can) see into the future, this turns into a major issue in (some of) the manuscripts.

Why so much background information? Because I finished plowing through a critical examination of the three principle manuscripts, the major fragments, and many other sources on this unfinished work of Mark Twain in Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts from the UCLA Berkeley Press. It's the only printed edition of this kind available and a fascinating read.

The version most people are familiar with, if they're familiar with it, is The Chronicle of Young Satan. Three young boys in Austria are torn between the influence of the new priest, the legacy and struggle of the old priest, and the kind young angel with a friendly face and sweet disposition capable of producing miracles. Against the advice of the new priest, the boys continue to see young Satan in an effort to improve their lives. They ask that he take care of the old priest and his daughter who can barely afford a loaf of bread and that he change the future to spare their good friend from a life of unending suffering worse than anything they could imagine. Young Satan, with his pure form of mercy, considers only the clearest method for each request. He provides the old priest with a cat that can produce food an money whenever they need it, leading to accusations from the town of witchcraft and ill-gotten gains. He spares the friend's suffering by arranging it so that he will die by the end of the week while he is happy. The young boys become increasingly horrified with the destructive consequences of Satan's mercy. Unfortunately, this version ends right smack in the middle of the next series of actions, often leading me to assume a wonderful speech from Satan after the mercy killing is the proper end of the book rather than all the unfinished nonsense in India. If you've seen the infamous "banned children's cartoon"from The Adventures of Mark Twain, you've seen my favorite scene (the clay) and this speech in gorgeous claymation. Be aware that the cartoon went with menacing, when Satan's is supposed to be nothing but charm and likability even when getting all stabby.

The second version, Schoolhouse Hill, is the shortest and the biggest departure from the other two editions. Instead of three boys in Austria, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn discover young Satan and go on a series of adventures. This version is fine, but is more about a few cheap jokes than exploring the nature of faith and mercy. Perhaps more than the other true manuscripts, Schoolhouse Hill causes the most discussion solely because it introduces the notion of Satan being called No. 44. The actual written manuscripts and notes show a wide variety of numbers in series of numbers used to express the identity of Satan, from 404 to 96, eventually leading to 44. The obsession? Trying to figure out why it's that number and not any other. 

The third significant version, No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger, is the only version with an ending. It's also the version that Twain felt the most compelled to destroy while writing. Twain makes ample use of a printing press as a variety of metaphors relating to faith. Young Satan, now fully No. 44, believes in the power of the word and eventually uses the press to duplicate himself. This text introduces a castle magician, Balthazar, who is determined to eliminate No. 44 as a threat at all costs. The town begins burning duplicates at the stake, though each duplicate always returns to the print shop to continue working. The local priest sides with the original No. 44 but believes the duplicates are evil. No. 44 falls in love with his daughter and does everything he can to marry her. Eventually, when everything is falling apart in a wave of chaos, No. 44 vanishes in thin air. More than the other manuscripts, this one contemplates the nature of existence. Here, Satan is not an angel for he reveals everything and everyone is only a passing thought and will eventually disappear as he does at the end of the story.

The writing of the manuscripts is what you would expect from Twain: clean, thoughtful, and full of meaning in unexpected ways. The character of young Satan is especially compelling in all three texts, though No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger really starts to build up the townspeople as more important to the story. If I had to guess, the third version is the closest to what Twain wanted to achieve. The first goes too far into fantasy once it hits India and the second is just treading water in the universe of Tom and Huck.

If you have the time, investigating all three major manuscripts is a worthwhile endeavor for fans of Twain. If not, I would recommend giving The Chronicle of Young Satan a go as it really stands out as a beautifully rendered concept piece. The issue, unfortunately, is with titling. When I first encountered The Chronicle, it was mislabeled No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger on Project Gutenberg. There are editions of all three available that almost always take that title so finding the right one is needlessly confusing. Then, there's that Paine version still kicking around that throws everything off more. It's worth the effort to find the edition you want.

Cannonball Read 2: Book 10: The Post-American World by Fareed Zakaria

Still on the back list of Cannonball Readings. If I posted more than once a week on it, I'd probably catch up. Oh well. Onwards.

I understand that Non-Fiction is a very broad market with lots of competition. Bookstores can fill an entire display table with the month's new releases on current politics, World War II, or scintillating new biographies of Baroque musicians. It becomes essential to nail a great title that stands out amongst the clutter. The Post-American World is a great title, but it's also my biggest issue with Fareed Zakaria's excellent book. It's misleading at best, attention/anger baiting at worst. The title would imply that Zakaria believe America no longer has power in the world or will no longer exists. Thankfully, that's not his argument at all.

Zakaria provides a thoughtful, well-researched look into what he refers to as "the rise of the rest." This means that many other nations that previously struggled to establish themselves in significant political, economical, and social ways on the international scene have not only gained a foothold, but are rapidly expanding in ways that starts to quickly shift the balance of power in the world. Zakaria basically argues that globalization, that four letter political word that has traditionally been viewed as a destructive failure, has finally started to come around to the original goals. We, as a nation, can no longer survive doing the same kind of politics and economics we have used for the past sixty years to be a dominant force in the world. It has become essential to begin collaborating with other nations on international policies or risk being left behind. 

For some odd reason, compromise scares many Americans. It's almost like revealing a sign of weakness to say we might need help once in a while. Zakaria argues that this attitude can be very damaging. He predicts that the US will face more and more opposition in international relations if the country continues to act alone on international matters. It was one thing when many of the nations America worked on were newly established after long colonial periods or post-war establishment; it's quite another when the nations have clout in international politics and have established their own political and economic culture. What was previously viewed as helpful is becoming increasingly viewed as hostile. 

Zakaria spends much of the book discussing rising superpowers like India and China, comparing their achievements to US achievements on superficial levels before exploring how and why they've achieved the growth they have, what they've learned from America, and where they can possibly go in the future. 

If you want an interesting read on how the world's political climate is changing, I doubt you can do much better in an easily approachable text than Fareed Zakaria's The Post-American World.

Cannonball Read 2: Book 9: Take Me Back to Afghanistan by Said Hyder Akbar and Susan Burton

Still playing catchup with the reviews. This one's the last from November, then we hit the December batch. Joy.

I'm not opposed to memoirs. I've experienced some that are rather engaging. Part of what draws me into a memoir is the quality of writing. It seems in many cases a good story can somehow trump the ability to craft a convincing narrative. But that's what a good ghostwriter/co-writer is for, right?

Come Back to Afghanistanby Said Hyder Akbar and Susan Burton, the aforementioned book fixer if you will, should be a compelling read. This is a first person look into the reconstruction of Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban. Akbar's father worked directly under current president Hamid Karzai as the nation building began. Indeed, there are many intriguing moments. The one that sticks out the most to me is Akbar noticing a man with no credentials constantly in the building interacting with politicians, taking notes, and making phone calls. When someone finally confronts the man, they realize he had no authority to be in the building and may have been spying for a terrorist organization. That's unsettling.

My big problem with the book is the quality of the writing. I respect Burton for trying to capture Akbar's voice as best as she could, but I feel like Akbar doesn't have much of a voice. His knowledge and insight is fascinating, but how it's presented is not. Everything is a simple matter of fact. As far as I can recall, there are no subtleties in the text. If Akbar's going to talk about road construction funding being diverted to Al-Queda to ensure the safety of the construction workers and locals, he will talk about road construction funds. His personal experience and reaction is almost a moot point in the book. These are some of the more engaging moments of the book. I had fun reading about his apprehension riding on a luggage carousel to get into an airport under the suggestion of people authorized to grant him access. When talking about his personal political heroes in Afghanistan, I feel like I could really like him. Come Back to Afghanistan just doesn't focus on those great personal moments.

I almost feel like Akbar had the opportunity to write this book too soon. Maybe with a few more years to reflect on his experiences, this could have been a powerful read. As it stands, the book offers insight into a tumultuous political situation and not much else. It's educational for certain, but very dull.

Cannonball Read 2: Book 8: The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson

I know I just said in my The Awakening review that I tend to avoid American literature. The only consistent exception to that is the slave narrative and slave-narrative inspired novels. I can't explain why. It's just another quirk like my love of horror musicals or appreciation of a fine trashy reality show on VH1.

For those who do not know, The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson is not, in fact, an autobiography. Though the movements of the unnamed narrator mirrors many of Johnson's own experiences, the book is a work of fiction. And what a work of fiction it is.

This is a novel that deals with personal identification of race and culture. The narrator is raised by his white single mother to believe that he is a white child, only to discover that his father is black. This sends his life into a tailspin of disappointments broken by minor triumphs. If the narrator is not [identity], he is nothing. If he isn't rolling cigars in Florida, he is a meaningless drifter perfectly capable of moving to New York City and breaking into the gambling racket. If he isn't a perfect white child playing piano to everyone's endless amusement, he can drift around from style to style until he latches onto something else he likes. The narrator is only capable of success when he clearly identifies with some form of established racial or cultural norm.

The plot of The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man is not as important as the growth of the character. In the crests and troughs of his journey to a sustainable identity, the narrator casts light on greater issues surrounding the role of mixed-race persons in America. Writers influenced by the work of James Weldon Johnson, like Jean Toomer, still cast mixed-race characters as the other, something removed from society, fearful, or shameful. Here, because the narrator is light enough to pass as white, Johnson produces a character than can explore various roles in society. This exploration is full of struggle caused by the cultural role of a mixed-race person. If he pretends he is white, he believes he is hiding part of his identity and will be found out and punished; if he accepts his black heritage, he feels obligated to better his race through a brand new form of artistic exploration; and if he tries to straddle the line between the two, he doesn't really exist in his society.

Johnson combines the American myth of rags to riches with the slave narrative to produce a unique exploration of an ignored aspect of American society. Every time you expect a kindly gentleman or long lost relative to step forward and save the struggling narrator, the narrator is forced to undergo even harder circumstances than his initial problem provided. His achievements, like learning to read and write and moving away from home to be an independent person, are the new stepping stones he uses in a faltering attempt at respectability. No one is going to save him but himself.

The prose is a treat to read. Johnson has a strong narrative voice that really does feel like a pompous young man detailing his exploits as if he is the greatest man to ever live. The combination of Johnson's life experience coloring the text and the integration of established literary forms make the work feel authentic. It's no surprise that the work was presumed to be a genuine autobiography. Johnson intentionally produced a fictional narrative reflective of real life to open a greater dialogue in America than any novel ever could.

Cannonball Read 2: Book 7: The Awakening by Kate Chopin

Technically, the next few Cannonball Read 2 posts are way overdue. These are the books I read for classes in November and just never ever posted about. I actually took pleasure in most of them, so the omission is baffling to me. Catch-up, away!

I have a thing for Modernism. It's true. I can't get enough of this literary period. I'm particularly fond of the European inter-war avant garde, to the point that I consider my research and reading into this period to be the end all, be all of Modernism.

The problem is, I have a very bad habit of avoiding American literature. I blame one too many middle school teachers telling me I couldn't write a report on Dickens/Woolf/Joyce and instead shoving some Steinbeck or Hemingway my way. With the exception of Faulkner (be still, my heart, I promise you ample Faulkner soon), I hate this grouping of writers with a passion and let that (plus a painful Twain experience for another post) push me away from my own country's literature for nearly 10 years.

So what does this have to do with a controversial proto-feminist American novel from 1899? In my mind? Everything.

Kate Chopin's The Awakening brought to mind a less wordy Virginia Woolf. Shoot, they even share a common metaphor/framing device: waves for intellectual growth, personal exploration, and the life cycle (Virginia Woolf's The Waves). The focus isn't on narrative, but technique and character exploration. There is a distinct cultural criticism going on through outrageous actions, like a woman staying outside the house all night in defiance of her husband who won't leave her side. Technically, Chopin's novel is not a Modernist text under stricter definitions (namely being a good decade removed from the canon of Modernism), but I play it fast and loose with literature. Give me a ghost and I'll call it a horror story for better or worse.

The Awakening is the story of one Edna Pontellier, a well-off wife and mother who feels detached from her life. While all the other good "wife-mothers" seem pleased as punch to chase after their children and tend the home, Edna is lifeless, depressed, and distraught. She would rather spend her days on the beach with a young man not learning how to swim than wait in the house to greet her husband's business clients. Throughout the novel, Edna tries to figure out what she wants out of life by eliminating what she doesn't. She doesn't want to follow the traditional role of a woman in upper class society; she doesn't want to be faithful to her husband; she doesn't want to raise her children; she doesn't want to even live in the same house as her family.

What can be viewed as frustrating is Edna's refusal to admit what she wants. Freedom? That's clear. She's trying to cast off the constraints society placed upon her without her choice. She's still young and can still make a big change in her life if she wants to. But what change does she want? That, I believe, is the point of the novel.

Kate Chopin brilliantly crafts a subtle, lyrical examination of a woman at a crossroads in her life. There is no right or wrong choice for Edna because according to society, there is no choice. Everything she does is a blindfolded step on a tightrope. Eventually, she will lose her balance and have to save herself. Chopin isn't condoning Edna's negligent parenting or infidelity: she's proposing that women should have a choice beyond the home life.

For late nineteenth century America, this was as radical as radical could get shy of attempting to shoot the president. Copies of The Awakening were burned and critics savaged the novel. Chopin couldn't get anything else published after the release of The Awakening. Fortunately, history has looked kindly upon The Awakening. Well, contextually history has looked kindly on the novel. It's considered an important feminist text, though the content overshadows the lovely form. I believe the true triumph of the novel is an artful representation of an underlying cultural tension between tradition and progress; this goes beyond traditional feminist readings. Chopin's achievement is producing a great American novel that happens to have strong critical resonance; this means the skill of the writer cannot be overlooked just to claim the text for one camp.

The Awakening by Kate Chopin can be a fast read, but is best savored like the beautiful summer days Edna relies on in the novel: slow, alone, and without distraction. Let the words wash over you as you wade into the deep end of uniquely American text.

Cannonball Read 2: Book 6: The Best Horror of the Year Volume One edited by Ellen Datlow

Horror anthologies are a decidedly mixed bag. For one thing, with the dwindling horror/dark fiction markets in the United States and the declining ability of horror publishers to invest in new talents, there is a small pool to pull from. Each magazine has it's own style of horror with a single common thread: they will drop an unknown author like a hot potato so they can cram in another Stephen King, Ramsey Campbell, or Peter Straub story. That provides a small pool for domestic horror anthologies. Often, the best horror anthologies come from across the pond. Stephen Jones has been editing my favorite, The Year's Best Horror, for quite a while now. Sure, the usual suspects (King, Campbell, Straub, Lansdale) always get in, but Jones always sprinkles in a fine mix of new, emerging, and forgotten talent for a brutal and relentless horror anthology.

Ellen Datlow, long standing editor of The Year's Best Science Fiction and Fantasy, has thrown her editing hat into the ring with the first in a new series of horror anthologies: The Best Horror of the Year Volume One. Though she doesn't specify an attempt to look past the more common names for fresh talent, it's quite clear that was her intention. Unfortunately, as any ardent horror fan can tell you, there's a reason the common names are so common: horror is hard to do right, and - formulaic or not - some authors have figured out how to make it consistently work.

Datlow's collection would be better referred to as an anthology of dark, not horror, fiction. However, since it's marketed as a horror collection, introduced as a horror collection, and designed like a horror collection, it has to be judged as a horror collection.

The anthology falls flat. The placement of stories is nice, the layout clean and clear, the introduction and yearly round-up done very well, but the collection is limp, weak, and underwhelming when taken as a whole.

Is it because the writing isn't any good? No. These are very talented writers at various stages in their careers. Is it the editing? Nope. Datlow's a vet and she knows what she's doing. These stories all have merit and offer a nice cross-section of darker fiction in 2008 (2008 because she is willing to admit that best-of anthologies often reward a year behind, so a 2009 release is really 2008 stories). So what went wrong?

The stories aren't scary. Datlow usually works in fantasy and many of these stories are dark fantasies, not horror. The line is often blurred here and elsewhere, but the stories in this collection almost uniformly keep both feet planted in fantasy.

Take, for example, E. Michael Lewis's "Cargo." This is a beautifully written story about an airforce delivery of a large stack of caskets containing dead children from a mass cult suicide. The doctor/recruit on board is traveling with the guidance of a nurse because he snapped from the pressure and believes he hears the children playing in the boxes. Pretty soon, everyone hears them. Instead of some big payoff or a consistent gothic atmosphere, Lewis opts for a somber wartime fantasy about the loss of innocence that reads more like the narrator accepting the existence of fairies in the garden instead of restless child spirits who don't know what happened to them.

Some of the stories are nightmarish in design, but still fall prey to the trappings of fantasy. Miranda Siemienowicz's "Dress Circle" could be horrifying if the emphasis wasn't on magical dresses that trap women in servitude. It reads like a variation of Snow White where she is put in the overly tightened bodice by her evil stepmother, only not nearly as dark.

There are three brilliant horror stories that might even be worth reading the whole collection for. First is Laird Barron's "The Lagerstatte," about a woman who lost her husband and son in a plane crash and goes off the deep end, or so you think. Even at the end, it's not clear whether or not the narrator is sane, and that's what makes it horror. It's a modern gothic cozy in the style of Edgar Allan Poe, where you have no reason to trust the narrator but follow her every word.

Second is "Girl in Pieces" by Graham Edwards. Imagine a multidimensional detective working in a small city populated by every creature ever mentioned in the history of horror. Now imagine a gigantic, kindhearted golem shows up to his office with a garbage pail full of a woman's body parts and zombie police officers demanding everyone comes out with their hands up. Now imagine the only way to solve the case is to bend through space and make a deal with a woman, now a monster, banished to another dimension. It's thrilling, funny, and rather scary. I would read a series of these stories if Graham Edwards wanted to pursue it further.

Third is Adam Golaski's "The Man from the Peak." It's a bit confusing, even at the end, but the story works. The narrator arrives at the going away party for his best friend and his new girlfriend - the narrator's ex - at their shared home on the top of a mountain. He witnesses a man walk down from the peak of the mountain and infiltrate the party. Strange things start happening with the man that only the narrator can see. It's suspenseful and feels real, like the best episodes of the Twilight Zone.

Perhaps the biggest disappointment is a feature that Ellen Datlow included in The Best Horror of the Year: a list of honorable mentions. Why is this disappointing? Because I've read quite a few of those stories before and any one of them could have switched places with any of the stories selected for the anthology and produced a stronger finished product. Some of the best work by writers like Sarah Langan, Jeff VanderMeer, and Richard Harland were overlooked to make way for dark fantasy in a horror anthology. Of course, I respect that tastes are subjective and willingly admit that for what was put together (horror or not), this is a well orchestrated anthology.

I know that Ellen Datlow is a talented editor. I have no doubt that she will only improve on future volumes of the anthology. As it stands right now, I would recommend anyone interested browse through it at your local bookstore first before committing to a purchase. I was terribly disappointed in the lack of genuine horror stories, a problem I've never had with Stephen Jones's anthologies. The writing in The Best Horror of the Year is great; it's just not horror writing.

Cannonball Read 2: Book 5: Make Your Own Damn Movie by Lloyd Kaufman

Lloyd Kaufman is a unique man. As a technical filmmaker, he voluntarily stepped away from Hollywood productions in the 1970s and never looked back. As a producer, he has dedicated his career to the pursuit of true independent cinema, for better or worse. And as a director, he managed to turn questionably sexy horror films into iconic symbols.

Lloyd Kaufman is Troma. This is the independent production company behind such classics as The Toxic Avenger, Sgt Kabukiman, NYPD, and Tromeo & Juliet. He has inspired countless modern horror directors to produce hilarious, gory debut horror films and be swallowed up by the studio system thereafter (need proof: James Gunn started with Troma, then wrote the screenplay to the live action Scooby Doo; he has since atoned for his sins and embraced digital distribution for film projects). It's not an easy road for the truly independent filmmaker, and Lloyd Kaufman doesn't try to pretend otherwise.

His book, Make Your Own Damn Movie, is a must read. Not just for those interested in making a movie, but for anyone interested in the film industry. Kaufman's voice is strong, smutty, and funny. He makes reading about financing a film as entertaining as the film itself. With helpful advice like giving nickel bjs behind the bus terminal to fill in gaps in production budget and keeping a man and a woman behind the casting table at all times to mitigate potential lawsuits, Make Your Own Damn Movie somehow manages to find a balance between the absurd and the educational. It's like the candy coated rim on a bitter cocktail: it makes it all go down much easier.

A book filled with anecdotes, advice, and jokes from Kaufman would surely be worth reading, but Make Your Own Damn Movie goes further. Troma staff, past and present, voluntary and coerced, write long passages detailing aspects of filmmaking they have a different perspective on or recollections of hellish experiences in the trenches of independent cinema. Throw in footnotes that often read like non-sequitors, arguably libelous statements about the biggest names in Hollywood, inspiring stories about rat feces and dentists, and transcribed (probably imagined) fights between contributors, and you have a bizarre and enjoyable read. The final result is an open-minded text that makes it clear there is no right answer when it comes to the film industry.

Well, in Kaufman's mind there is a right answer, and that's just making the movie however you have to within the confines of the law. Better to have a finished film that's pure crap than a perfect film that never hits one frame of filmstock. Considering the man is running one of the only pure independent studios and distribution companies and has for a very long time, I'd take that as good advice.

The Twelve Days of Sketchies: Day Five: Outstanding Achievement in Writing

Writing is a broad category, and I will be addressing it that way. We write books, we write screenplays, we write teleplays, and we write music. All shall be represented here.

First, an honorable mention. This is another one of the no one really knows or cares so why bother recognitions, but I must say it. Stew, badass rockstar and composer of one of the best rock musicals of all time Passing Strange, composed an original score for an outdoor production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It's beautiful. You can sample it at CDBaby. It's not what you would expect for Shakespeare, but I can hear how it would work.

Our first honoree in Outstanding Achievement in Writing is a book that apparently came and went with no one noticing: Homer & Langley by E.L. Doctorow. Based on the lives of the infamous Collyer Brothers, a pair of hoarders in NYC who literally died in their own filth, Doctorow captures the desperation the men must have felt and accepted before allowing their lives to become overrun with hoarded objects. It's funny, it's touching, and it's entertaining. The extension of their lives through the Vietnam War and beyond was a smart touch to allow for a more believable arc of destruction. Sometimes, reality is too weird to be captured in print and seem real.

Our next honoree in Outstanding Achievement in Writing is the score to a motion picture that I simply fell in love with: Karen O and Carter Burwell's original score to Where the Wild Things Are. This is certainly a polarizing score. I was charmed by the simple melodies, complex arrangements, alt/folk/rock/pop influences, and emotional content performed by Karen O and a group of children. Others can't get past Karen O's signature voice and repetition. Here's a sampling of the score:

I'm a sucker for an original vocal score and Karen O and Carter Burwell delivered here.

Speaking of great original scores, I would be mad at myself if I neglected to mention another of my favorites of the year: John Ottman's original score for Orphan. "Orphan," you ask, "isn't that the one where the little girl turns out to be a [removed for spoiler free post]? That movie's stupid." I'm not arguing the screenplay here. I'm arguing the score. Beautifully written, largely sustained horror scores play me like nothing else. This one just worked for the film. Samples are available at Amazon. It's a little Goblin (Argento's go-to composing band), a little Danny Elfman, and a whole lot of strange and ominous. Truly an Outstanding Achievement in Writing.

Back to more easily understood forms of writing, our next honoree for Outstanding Achievement in Writing is a screenplay: (500) Days of Summer written by Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber. What Neustadter and Weber did to the romantic comedy is to be praised. Who could imagine what an impact believable characters and genuine circumstances could make in this kind of film? The time-jumps are just the icing on the cake. Aside from a very strained board room scene, the dialog is natural to the characters and the story compelling. Yes, an architect working for a greeting card company is intended to be quirky just because, but it works beyond the wacky gimmick. It's certainly a film worth watching for the writing.

Our next honoree is an original song that will send people clicking away from my site in droves. That's ok. I can take it. Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance." What happens when pop and/or dance music becomes totally self-aware? Lady Gaga happens. I've bought into the performance art hook, line, and sinker, and feel "Bad Romance" is easily the best new pop song of the year. It's disturbing, features half a verse dedicated to Hitchcock references, and only features a human voice as a real instrument (how modified is another matter of debate). So what's so great? It's a catchy pop song embracing the darker side of choosing a romantic partner, has a unique sonic identity, and stands out. See for yourself:

Freaky video, right? The song is even stranger. And I love it.

Now our winner. I struggled to pick a singular Outstanding Achievement in Writing since what I was drawn to this year was so weird. I opted for a mix of different writing elements combined to perfection in a television series. That would be the "Pilot" episode of Glee written by Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk, and Ian Brennan. The key moment of the episode is "Don't Stop Believing." The arrangement of the song is still the strongest written of any presented on the show. The lead up to this grand unveiling of the students actually being talented in all things Glee Club is predictable, but handled with so much charm and genuine enthusiasm that the scene works better than I could imagine. The super clean processed vocals and unrealistic rate of learning these characters demonstrate in every other episode is not a detriment in the pilot. Shoot, I'm willing to overlook the clearly orchestrated diversity of the Glee Club (which only expands) because the "Pilot" episode is so much fun. Having such clean elements and familiarity was the smartest way to launch a weekly musical series on American TV and that is why this wins Outstanding Achievement in Writing.

Cannonball Read 2: Book 4: Just After Sunset by Stephen King

When I first tried to read Just After Sunset by Stephen King, his latest collection of short stories, last year upon release, I almost brought the book back to the store. The introduction seemed promising in that a man who tends to over-think his stories to the point of over-complication and grotesque bloating of paper-thin plots was going back to a simpler, more visceral style. Write the story, edit the story, be done with the story. Which is why the confusing mess of the first two-thirds of opening story "Willa" led me to believe King shot out another catastrophe ala Blaze. Wisely, I put the book aside and began reading it again two weeks ago.

What a difference a year makes. While not as accomplished as 2002's Everything's Eventual (what horror collection is nowadays?), Just After Sunset is ultimately a worthy to King's uneven cannon. The prevailing theme that links all of the stories is death. More correctly: how do we perceive our own deaths and will we even know when we die?

"Willa" is sloppy for the first two-thirds. Then the story opens up to a touching vision of the afterlife far removed from anything else in the collection. This afterlife offers hope and joy if the characters realize they have passed on; those that don't are stuck waiting for the train that will never arrive. The concept is there, but like a few other stories in the collection, King is more than willing to admit the story didn't turn out great. Maybe he'll revisit it someday and produce something more polished. The emotional resonance without quirky layers (funny sayings on bathroom walls, psychotic waiters, school shootings, etc.) is refreshing from King who sometimes substitutes a gimmick for a plot.

"The Gingerbread Girl" and "Stationary Bike" may make you reconsider the necessity of your fitness regime. In one, a woman who lost a baby becomes obsessed with running, leading her right into the clutches of a dangerous man in an abandoned resort town. In the other, a man creates an exercise oasis wherein his body is manifested by a construction crew who grow to dislike his new healthy lifestyle. The stories are great novel concepts with interesting characters and high levels of tension. I'm normally leary of King's almost-novella length stories, yet these two work well.

The same cannot be said for "The Things They Left Behind" or "A Very Tight Place." I respect King for having the courage to write "The Things They Left Behind." Not many writers are willing to address the events of 9/11 for fear of upsetting people, but King admits to writing this story specifically to deal with his own feelings about the terrorist attacks that day. It's a mess of a story based on a gimmick of forgotten office items speaking to a survivor and probably could have been half as long without really losing anything. "A Very Tight Place" is the infamous port-a-potty story and actually delivers the goods when the man is locked inside. Too bad most of the story is over by the time the plot is actually set into motion. The villain is a flat foil of homophobia manifested through insanity and detracts from what could have been an interesting, albeit disgusting, escape story.

Stephen King tackles H.P. Lovecraft in "N." without ever admitting he pulled inspiration from Lovecraft. It's quite clear when the unseen monster is named "Cthun" and is a manifestation of man's insecurities, capable of manipulating physical matter and driving a man insane, that the reference is Cthulhu. Instead of admitting as much in the "Author's Notes", King babbles on about tackling OCD like any good writer should. Maybe he assumes the reference is so clear no one will mistake him. Whatever the case, "N." is an engaging story more akin to the unreliable narrators of Poe than a modern psychological exploration or Lovecraftian piece of weird fiction.

Speaking of the "Author's Notes", they're terrible. I look forward to reading King's writings on King because he normally provides an insightful look into his creative process and what drives him as an author. Instead, it seems like these were tacked on to his quickly written stories because of expectations. I would rather have had no notes than be left with these uninspired comments.

When Stephen King is stuck writing about the evils of text-messaging, crazy cars, and giant Simpsonian domes, it's nice to see the author capable of creating fright and emotional resonance without resorting to completely outrageous gimmicks. There are ghosts, there are unlucky cats, there are demons, and there are internal terrors. What more could a horror fan want?

Cannonball Read 2: Book 3: Looking Backward: 2000-1887 by Edward Bellamy

Note: This review refers to 1995 Bedford Books edition, edited and with large introductory essay by Daniel H. Borus. This edition totals 202 pages of critical and fictional content.

Imagine, if you will, a writer popular enough to earn a living off of writing in the late 19th Century, yet not popular enough to leave a large mark on his contemporary society. This writer wrote about everything wrong with contemporary society in pleasantly written novels with steady pacing and predictable conclusions. Then one day, this writer decided to envision what his ideal America would be and became a national sensation.

This writer is Edward Bellamy. His novel, Looking Backward: 2000-1887, has its rightful share of criticism related to the story itself. Almost any article you can find on the novel will comment on how preposterous it is that no effort is made to scientifically explain how a man can be put in a trance in 1887 and wake up in 2000 with no aging, no medical issues, and no possible repercussions other than confusion to answer to. There's a really predictable romantic arc, almost a love at first sight situation, that distracts from the forward thinking narrative thrust. Perhaps worst of all, Bellamy predicted his utopian society would not be fully realized in 2000, but only 50 years into the future.

The impact of Looking Backward was a political one at the time. Bellamy's version of Nationalism sparked political parties and activists, from Populists to feminists to socialists. He envisioned an America in which everyone would be on equal footing. We would all work for the same number of years at whatever job we wanted and receive the same pay. Differences in difficult would be accounted for with work hours: manual labor, such as coal miners, would work the least, while less stressful occupations would work the most. Men and women would be equal. All races would be equal. The government would run all industry to ensure this equality. Retired citizens would be the artists and creators, ensuring new artistic works could be created for all time without worry of how the artist would survive.

For me, I think the prose itself is lovely. Bellamy's descriptions are long and luxe, explaining why society changed and what it changed to, but intentionally never explaining how. It's a natural progression, one that's matched by a light touch of Realism to ground the narrative in something more traditional. The main character faces significant psychological torment upon waking up in a utopia nothing like his previous life and repeatedly has to be talked off the cliff by the family watching over him.

What the story lacks in a straightforward narrative it makes up for with interesting ideas. It is a novel of ideas and one of the more tangibly influential political novels in history. The parties Bellamy influenced would successfully lobby for many of the welfare reforms he called for in the novel.

Looking Backward: 2000-1887 is an interesting read to see just how much America has changed in the past 100-plus years.