(no subject)
This past Sunday I was under the weather slightly, so I did what people like me do in these situations--I curled up with a good book. In my case, it was Terry Pratchett's Snuff, the latest entry in the Nightwatch group of Discworld novels, featuring Sam Vimes.
I was reading along, enjoying the usual wordplay and the deep understanding of human relationships, as well as a spot-on portrait of a six-year-old boy's fascination with poo--from a scientific
IT is something I've come to expect from Terry Pratchett, something I first experienced when I read Carpe Jugulum, something that explains why he has so many avid fans among so many different kinds of people. I've described IT as the Monty Python hand falling from heaven, pronouncing, "The one in the braces, he done it." In a Discworld novel, this is the moment when I understand what the larger story is, what Terry Pratchett is trying to say about our world--about us--through Discworld. In Snuff, that moment creates a sort of shimmer, rather like one of those holographs that you look into and see first one thing and then another and perhaps a third, all in one object. It's brilliant stuff.
It also convinced me that James Wood is really onto something in How Fiction Works when he talks about "the fact that promises to ground the fiction." As fantastic as Discworld is, it is so completely grounded in humanity, and as far as I'm concerned, it is that groundedness that makes it so utterly satisfying to read. It has me thinking about how I can keep that groundedness in my own work.
I ended Sunday by watching "Strictly Ballroom," again, because I have a soft spot for mockumentaries. (In case you haven't noticed, I enjoy all things that 'play it slant' --parody, satire, puns. That's who I am--I'd rather laugh than cry.) I can't remember when I first saw it, but re-watching pointed out to me how carefully constructed this 1992 movie is.
The plot summaries focus on Paul's career risk and success, and make this another one about the plain girl (who turns out to be beautiful when she takes off her glasses, oh give me a break! At least he asks her if she needs them and lets her take them off, instead of doing it for her, but still, could someone please drive a stake through this tired old trope)...as I was saying, about the plain girl, Fran, who turns out to be the perfect partner.
But this movie is not really about whether Paul can win the ballroom dancing championship. It's about why we do what we do. You begin to realize this through glimpses of Paul's father, who is a nonentity in the dance studio, putting the records on the turntable, cleaning up, being the general dogs-body, but who flits through every so often, whistling, or--once--dancing by himself in the dark. (He also wears ugly glasses--bifocals, too.) When Fran's family appears on the scene, another layer is added. They dismiss Paul's pasodoble--it's a mere imitation. One of the loveliest moments of the movie comes when Fran's grandmother, a heavy-set woman, dances. She's dignified, graceful and for that moment utterly magnificent. Between them, the grandmother and Fran's father (Antonio Vargas, who I could watch dance for hours) give Paul a new way to think about dance. It's not about glam and glitz and winning, it's about a relationship between people. These two threads come together at the end, when Paul's father at last asserts himself and Paul must make the decision of his dancing life.
"Strictly Ballroom" shimmers in much the same way Snuff does, at least for me as a writer. Because sometimes I think we get so focused on winning (publishing=money, fame) that we forget that this is about relationships (publishing=connecting with readers, putting something from our minds into theirs). Either way we need to master the steps--and one of the things I like so much about "Strictly Ballroom" is that how well it conveys the sense of hours of practice--but after that, the choice is up to us. In this world, as in the world of ballroom dance, there are different rewards, depending on our choice. Although sometimes, some lucky few are able to succeed on both counts.
But for now, I'm going to focus on what I want to share with readers. Back to the packet.
I was reading along, enjoying the usual wordplay and the deep understanding of human relationships, as well as a spot-on portrait of a six-year-old boy's fascination with poo--from a scientific
IT is something I've come to expect from Terry Pratchett, something I first experienced when I read Carpe Jugulum, something that explains why he has so many avid fans among so many different kinds of people. I've described IT as the Monty Python hand falling from heaven, pronouncing, "The one in the braces, he done it." In a Discworld novel, this is the moment when I understand what the larger story is, what Terry Pratchett is trying to say about our world--about us--through Discworld. In Snuff, that moment creates a sort of shimmer, rather like one of those holographs that you look into and see first one thing and then another and perhaps a third, all in one object. It's brilliant stuff.
It also convinced me that James Wood is really onto something in How Fiction Works when he talks about "the fact that promises to ground the fiction." As fantastic as Discworld is, it is so completely grounded in humanity, and as far as I'm concerned, it is that groundedness that makes it so utterly satisfying to read. It has me thinking about how I can keep that groundedness in my own work.
I ended Sunday by watching "Strictly Ballroom," again, because I have a soft spot for mockumentaries. (In case you haven't noticed, I enjoy all things that 'play it slant' --parody, satire, puns. That's who I am--I'd rather laugh than cry.) I can't remember when I first saw it, but re-watching pointed out to me how carefully constructed this 1992 movie is.
Click to viewThe plot summaries focus on Paul's career risk and success, and make this another one about the plain girl (who turns out to be beautiful when she takes off her glasses, oh give me a break! At least he asks her if she needs them and lets her take them off, instead of doing it for her, but still, could someone please drive a stake through this tired old trope)...as I was saying, about the plain girl, Fran, who turns out to be the perfect partner.
But this movie is not really about whether Paul can win the ballroom dancing championship. It's about why we do what we do. You begin to realize this through glimpses of Paul's father, who is a nonentity in the dance studio, putting the records on the turntable, cleaning up, being the general dogs-body, but who flits through every so often, whistling, or--once--dancing by himself in the dark. (He also wears ugly glasses--bifocals, too.) When Fran's family appears on the scene, another layer is added. They dismiss Paul's pasodoble--it's a mere imitation. One of the loveliest moments of the movie comes when Fran's grandmother, a heavy-set woman, dances. She's dignified, graceful and for that moment utterly magnificent. Between them, the grandmother and Fran's father (Antonio Vargas, who I could watch dance for hours) give Paul a new way to think about dance. It's not about glam and glitz and winning, it's about a relationship between people. These two threads come together at the end, when Paul's father at last asserts himself and Paul must make the decision of his dancing life.
"Strictly Ballroom" shimmers in much the same way Snuff does, at least for me as a writer. Because sometimes I think we get so focused on winning (publishing=money, fame) that we forget that this is about relationships (publishing=connecting with readers, putting something from our minds into theirs). Either way we need to master the steps--and one of the things I like so much about "Strictly Ballroom" is that how well it conveys the sense of hours of practice--but after that, the choice is up to us. In this world, as in the world of ballroom dance, there are different rewards, depending on our choice. Although sometimes, some lucky few are able to succeed on both counts.
But for now, I'm going to focus on what I want to share with readers. Back to the packet.