LJ Idol, Week 30: "Shock and Awe"
I am always pleasantly surprised when a book, or movie, or piece of music, or whathaveyou, lives up to its hype.
I'm all for getting recommendations from friends on what's good with respect to music, movies, books, and so on. And I do pick up a lot of what I read/listen to/watch from my friends' suggestions. I trust my friends and they have rarely steered me wrong. The problem is that I am something of a curmudgeon when it comes to recommendations. If something has taken the general public's interest by storm, then experience has taught me that it is often, sadly, not all it's cracked up to be (which is a charitable way of saying that the general public's taste is utter and complete shite...examples include "Twilight", "Jersey Shore", Robert Jordan, "Hunger Games", "50 Shades of Gray", and plenty of others I won't bother mentioning). So when I hear zombie hordes of people squealing about how I must see this movie right now or read that book immediately before another second elapses, then my immediate reaction is to run speedily in the other direction. It is not, shall we say, one of my more endearing qualities.
Occasionally, the object of attention is actually worthy of the public's adulation, but usually not to the extent that they rave about it. I enjoyed Christopher Paolini's Eragon and its sequel, but have felt no special urge to read the third or fourth book and will pick them up whenever I see them in the used bookstore. Stieg Larsson's The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is another good example. Near-impenetrable for the first forty percent of the book and hampered by translation vagaries, it only picked up towards the end. Decent enough, but way overrated; as with Paolini, I'll probably pick the others up eventually, but they aren't high on my list.
In a few very rare cases, though, the public is actually perceptive enough to seize on something which has real, actual merit. The "Harry Potter" series is the prime example of this. I studiously ignored Rowling's work until just after the fourth book had come out. Since I knew that the general mouth-breathing second-grade reading-level public tended to prefer stories with all the depth of an empty child's swimming pool, I couldn't see what all the hype was about. But curiosity eventually got the better of me and I sat down in the local Borders one day with the first book, to see what it was like. I figured I'd try it for a while and then feel vindicated when it turned out to be crap, so smug and self-righteous was I. Now imagine my surprise. I was stunned, shocked almost into immobility, when I realized that I'd plowed steadily through almost the entire book in an hour or so without ever glancing up once. Because, dammit, Rowling had written a freaking good story, with absorbing characters and a fascinating world. How was that possible, that the general public had picked up on something this smart and interesting? It boggled the mind.
(The HP books now occupy a place of honor on my shelf -- in hardcover, no less, an honor which only a few series have managed -- and I was at "midnight release" bookstore parties for the fifth, sixth and final books in the series....but I digress).
The problem is made even worse, at least for me, when the fans of a particular book or movie aren't even part of the "general public" I keep mentioning. This happens a lot more in my circle of friends. Because I love geeky pursuits, the types of recommendations I tend to hear for books, movies, etc., are for films or stories that the general public will never have heard of, or would look down their noses at. "Firefly?" they'll sniff. "Never heard of it. Wait...no, isn't that that geeky (they always say "geeky" in that tone that makes it clear they actually mean "childish" and "worthless") science fiction western thing? God, what a stupid concept." I already know to ignore their opinions on all things fannish. That's not the issue. The general geek fandom, on the other hand -- a group that you would normally think I could trust with my life -- will rant and rave about a show at every possible opportunity, with such intensity that it tends to put me off even more than widespread public acceptance might tend to do, so I will still avoid it like the plague. Again, not one of my more endearing qualities.
This has, regrettably, led to my being a "late adopter" on a number of really excellent shows, books, and so on -- usually because I discounted my friends' recommendation on something for the reason that fandom in general had gone a little too geeky over it all. It always annoys me when this happens, because I then go kicking myself around the house for waiting so long to read it or watch it. In a few cases I've become enough of a fan of the recent discovery that I immediately turn into one of its evangelists myself. Then I'm one of the annoying people who reacts to "I haven't seen it" by squealing "Oh my god, you haven't seen it? You have to see it, it's awesome!" Being mindful of my own extreme objection to that sort of rabid fanboy drooling, though, I do try to temper it with rationalism, coolly listing reasons why the show is worth watching or the book's worth picking up.
Examples where I've been late to the party because of my own stubbornness include:
-- The TV show "Firefly", which had been dead and gone for a good two years by the time I tried it, and of which I am now a massive fan.
-- Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, which was so ubiquitous in geek circles that by the time I actually watched it, I already knew half the quotes from the episodes.
-- Patrick Rothfuss's Kingkiller trilogy. "The Name of the Wind" is not only the best first novel I have ever read, it is also one of the best novels I have ever read, period. Rothfuss is destined to be a major player in the fantasy world.
-- Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden series. These are a trifle formulaic, but the character and concept are something I really wish I had thought of, and the stories are damn well told.
-- Crime/thriller author Donald Westlake, who I actually avoided for a long time solely because of one author's near-constant inside references and homages to Westlake; I love Spider Robinson and he's a very good writer, but he does wear his inspirations on his sleeve rather a lot. I am really kicking myself for this now, because Westlake was a truly great writer and I can't believe I missed his talent for all these years.
-- The TV show "The Big Bang Theory", which is staffed with enough geeky, interesting characters and outstanding acting that it rises above the "sitcom" setting and "hey, look at the funny nerds" stereotypes, both of which tend to annoy me greatly.
-- The comic book series "Preacher", which was a year finished when I started
-- The comic book series "Cerebus", which was two-thirds of the way through its 300-issue run when I began reading it
-- The remake of "Battlestar Galactica", which actually didn't "grab" me immediately like some of these others have done; it took about a year of watching episodes off and on for this one to take hold.
One saving grace to my stubbornness in cases like these is that it tends to provide me with a wealth of material to take in once I finally do give in and succumb to the siren call of whatever-it-is. In the case of "Battlestar Galactica", for example, the series had been over for months when I finally decided to give it a look, so I had the entire series of four and a half seasons to look forward to if it turned out to be worth my time. I didn't have to wait with bated breath for the next episode to arrive, or tear my hair out in clumps when they ended a season with a cliffhanger; instead all I had to do was shrug and insert the next disc. With the Harry Dresden series, Butcher had produced ten books in the series when I started reading them, so there was lots for me to enjoy already. Donald Westlake produced more than 100 novels during his relentless career, so the only difficulty I'm having now is that people who own Westlake's books don't tend to sell them to used bookstores (my usual source for picking up books). "Cerebus" is kept in print via "phone book" graphic novels which collect 25 issues of the comic at a time, so it was an easy task to catch up with 200 issues' worth of backstory.
The other saving grace is that episodic stories and series really do tend to work better when taken in as a cohesive whole. Neil Gaiman's comic series "Sandman" is one of these (although it's not one of the ones I was late to the party on -- that one, I can happily admit, I was a reader within the first ten issues). Sandman is a story with a definite beginning and end, and though it was really wonderful to read each new issue as it arrived, it's better still to sit down with my issues (or with the graphic novel collections) on a rainy Sunday afternoon and just read from start to finish, all 75 issues, drinking in the story as it unfolds. There's no break in the narrative, nothing to interrupt the flow, and it just works better when seen as a gestalt whole. This is true to a lesser extent with episodic TV series, as well, although they suffer from the handicap of multiple writers -- "Battlestar Galactica", for example, while a wonderful series up till the third season, definitely seems to lose its way after that, wandering aimlessly about as it tries to recapture the earlier magic and never quite manages it. But when a single unifying creator is at the helm from start to finish (as with book series, and some comic series), it just tends to work a lot better if you can manage the uninterrupted time to go from start to finish.
Now, if I could just find some way to disconnect the "no! I won't do it!" reactionary circuit in my head that triggers every time the geek fandom trips out over a really great series of books or movies. There's gotta be some way I can find a happy medium....
[This has been the fourth of five entries for Week 30 of LJ Idol. There were five topics to be written this week: "gobsmacked", "disappear", "appropriation", "cesspool", and "scared money never wins". This was the "gobsmacked" entry. I hope you enjoyed my efforts on this and the other entries this week! Please check out the other participants' entries and show them some love as well.]
I'm all for getting recommendations from friends on what's good with respect to music, movies, books, and so on. And I do pick up a lot of what I read/listen to/watch from my friends' suggestions. I trust my friends and they have rarely steered me wrong. The problem is that I am something of a curmudgeon when it comes to recommendations. If something has taken the general public's interest by storm, then experience has taught me that it is often, sadly, not all it's cracked up to be (which is a charitable way of saying that the general public's taste is utter and complete shite...examples include "Twilight", "Jersey Shore", Robert Jordan, "Hunger Games", "50 Shades of Gray", and plenty of others I won't bother mentioning). So when I hear zombie hordes of people squealing about how I must see this movie right now or read that book immediately before another second elapses, then my immediate reaction is to run speedily in the other direction. It is not, shall we say, one of my more endearing qualities.
Occasionally, the object of attention is actually worthy of the public's adulation, but usually not to the extent that they rave about it. I enjoyed Christopher Paolini's Eragon and its sequel, but have felt no special urge to read the third or fourth book and will pick them up whenever I see them in the used bookstore. Stieg Larsson's The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo is another good example. Near-impenetrable for the first forty percent of the book and hampered by translation vagaries, it only picked up towards the end. Decent enough, but way overrated; as with Paolini, I'll probably pick the others up eventually, but they aren't high on my list.
In a few very rare cases, though, the public is actually perceptive enough to seize on something which has real, actual merit. The "Harry Potter" series is the prime example of this. I studiously ignored Rowling's work until just after the fourth book had come out. Since I knew that the general mouth-breathing second-grade reading-level public tended to prefer stories with all the depth of an empty child's swimming pool, I couldn't see what all the hype was about. But curiosity eventually got the better of me and I sat down in the local Borders one day with the first book, to see what it was like. I figured I'd try it for a while and then feel vindicated when it turned out to be crap, so smug and self-righteous was I. Now imagine my surprise. I was stunned, shocked almost into immobility, when I realized that I'd plowed steadily through almost the entire book in an hour or so without ever glancing up once. Because, dammit, Rowling had written a freaking good story, with absorbing characters and a fascinating world. How was that possible, that the general public had picked up on something this smart and interesting? It boggled the mind.
(The HP books now occupy a place of honor on my shelf -- in hardcover, no less, an honor which only a few series have managed -- and I was at "midnight release" bookstore parties for the fifth, sixth and final books in the series....but I digress).
The problem is made even worse, at least for me, when the fans of a particular book or movie aren't even part of the "general public" I keep mentioning. This happens a lot more in my circle of friends. Because I love geeky pursuits, the types of recommendations I tend to hear for books, movies, etc., are for films or stories that the general public will never have heard of, or would look down their noses at. "Firefly?" they'll sniff. "Never heard of it. Wait...no, isn't that that geeky (they always say "geeky" in that tone that makes it clear they actually mean "childish" and "worthless") science fiction western thing? God, what a stupid concept." I already know to ignore their opinions on all things fannish. That's not the issue. The general geek fandom, on the other hand -- a group that you would normally think I could trust with my life -- will rant and rave about a show at every possible opportunity, with such intensity that it tends to put me off even more than widespread public acceptance might tend to do, so I will still avoid it like the plague. Again, not one of my more endearing qualities.
This has, regrettably, led to my being a "late adopter" on a number of really excellent shows, books, and so on -- usually because I discounted my friends' recommendation on something for the reason that fandom in general had gone a little too geeky over it all. It always annoys me when this happens, because I then go kicking myself around the house for waiting so long to read it or watch it. In a few cases I've become enough of a fan of the recent discovery that I immediately turn into one of its evangelists myself. Then I'm one of the annoying people who reacts to "I haven't seen it" by squealing "Oh my god, you haven't seen it? You have to see it, it's awesome!" Being mindful of my own extreme objection to that sort of rabid fanboy drooling, though, I do try to temper it with rationalism, coolly listing reasons why the show is worth watching or the book's worth picking up.
Examples where I've been late to the party because of my own stubbornness include:
-- The TV show "Firefly", which had been dead and gone for a good two years by the time I tried it, and of which I am now a massive fan.
-- Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, which was so ubiquitous in geek circles that by the time I actually watched it, I already knew half the quotes from the episodes.
-- Patrick Rothfuss's Kingkiller trilogy. "The Name of the Wind" is not only the best first novel I have ever read, it is also one of the best novels I have ever read, period. Rothfuss is destined to be a major player in the fantasy world.
-- Jim Butcher's Harry Dresden series. These are a trifle formulaic, but the character and concept are something I really wish I had thought of, and the stories are damn well told.
-- Crime/thriller author Donald Westlake, who I actually avoided for a long time solely because of one author's near-constant inside references and homages to Westlake; I love Spider Robinson and he's a very good writer, but he does wear his inspirations on his sleeve rather a lot. I am really kicking myself for this now, because Westlake was a truly great writer and I can't believe I missed his talent for all these years.
-- The TV show "The Big Bang Theory", which is staffed with enough geeky, interesting characters and outstanding acting that it rises above the "sitcom" setting and "hey, look at the funny nerds" stereotypes, both of which tend to annoy me greatly.
-- The comic book series "Preacher", which was a year finished when I started
-- The comic book series "Cerebus", which was two-thirds of the way through its 300-issue run when I began reading it
-- The remake of "Battlestar Galactica", which actually didn't "grab" me immediately like some of these others have done; it took about a year of watching episodes off and on for this one to take hold.
One saving grace to my stubbornness in cases like these is that it tends to provide me with a wealth of material to take in once I finally do give in and succumb to the siren call of whatever-it-is. In the case of "Battlestar Galactica", for example, the series had been over for months when I finally decided to give it a look, so I had the entire series of four and a half seasons to look forward to if it turned out to be worth my time. I didn't have to wait with bated breath for the next episode to arrive, or tear my hair out in clumps when they ended a season with a cliffhanger; instead all I had to do was shrug and insert the next disc. With the Harry Dresden series, Butcher had produced ten books in the series when I started reading them, so there was lots for me to enjoy already. Donald Westlake produced more than 100 novels during his relentless career, so the only difficulty I'm having now is that people who own Westlake's books don't tend to sell them to used bookstores (my usual source for picking up books). "Cerebus" is kept in print via "phone book" graphic novels which collect 25 issues of the comic at a time, so it was an easy task to catch up with 200 issues' worth of backstory.
The other saving grace is that episodic stories and series really do tend to work better when taken in as a cohesive whole. Neil Gaiman's comic series "Sandman" is one of these (although it's not one of the ones I was late to the party on -- that one, I can happily admit, I was a reader within the first ten issues). Sandman is a story with a definite beginning and end, and though it was really wonderful to read each new issue as it arrived, it's better still to sit down with my issues (or with the graphic novel collections) on a rainy Sunday afternoon and just read from start to finish, all 75 issues, drinking in the story as it unfolds. There's no break in the narrative, nothing to interrupt the flow, and it just works better when seen as a gestalt whole. This is true to a lesser extent with episodic TV series, as well, although they suffer from the handicap of multiple writers -- "Battlestar Galactica", for example, while a wonderful series up till the third season, definitely seems to lose its way after that, wandering aimlessly about as it tries to recapture the earlier magic and never quite manages it. But when a single unifying creator is at the helm from start to finish (as with book series, and some comic series), it just tends to work a lot better if you can manage the uninterrupted time to go from start to finish.
Now, if I could just find some way to disconnect the "no! I won't do it!" reactionary circuit in my head that triggers every time the geek fandom trips out over a really great series of books or movies. There's gotta be some way I can find a happy medium....
[This has been the fourth of five entries for Week 30 of LJ Idol. There were five topics to be written this week: "gobsmacked", "disappear", "appropriation", "cesspool", and "scared money never wins". This was the "gobsmacked" entry. I hope you enjoyed my efforts on this and the other entries this week! Please check out the other participants' entries and show them some love as well.]