I just finished reading the novel Mort(e) by Robert Repino. To call it speculative is by far an understatement. It’s about an apocalyptic future in which a psychic colony of giant ants gifts sentience (and human-equivalent size, and opposable thumbs) to domesticated animals, instigating a human-animal war. The Colony claims to be working with the animals against the human scourge, but it’s more likely that the ants’ Queen is on nobody’s side but her own. Our hero Mort(e) is a neutered, declawed housecat (formerly named Sebastian; post-Change animals tend to discard pet names as “slave names”). While everyone around him is taking sides in the war, Mort(e) just desperately wants to reunite with his pre-Change companion, a female dog named Sheba, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to do so, even if that means allying with the dwindling human resistance.
Yeah. It’s a lot.
Unfortunately, even with this complex and intricate premise, the novel still couldn’t do right by its women.
I typically don’t like to read sad books. So from the get-go, I was leery of a book titled More Happy Than Not, as anything with a name like that promised to be bittersweet at best. While I wasn’t wrong in this first impression, I don’t regret having read it. More Happy Than Not is a beautifully told story about regret, memory, and queerness in the very near future, and contains an important message about the damage compulsory heterosexuality can do.
Major spoilers for the story below the jump, as well as mentions of suicide and violent homophobia.
I’ve been a reading fiend lately—my new library card is beginning to wear down under the abuse. I’m trying to catch up on several years’ worth of not-having-consistent-time-to-read, and have especially been trying to reacquaint myself with both what’s new and what classics I haven’t read from the genres I love. Because of this, in the last two weeks I’ve found myself reading two different books that are set on an Earth so post-apocalyptic as to be unrecognizable. These books are both ostensibly fantasy—they include magic items, fantastical locales, and creatures of legend—but the fact that they’re supposedly set on our Earth gives me pause. If there wasn’t magic before the apocalypse, where did this magic come from?
A map of Shannara. Not pictured: anything that looks like any part of the current planet Earth. Also not pictured: topography that makes logical sense.
No, that’s not exactly true—I dislike memoirs. Maybe it’s leftover annoyance over every creative writing class I’ve taken, but the genre has never warmed the cockles of my cold, cold heart. I’m just not the type to get inspired by “this abnormal happenstance happened to me, but this really generalized lesson is still applicable to you!” since, no, those lessons are generally not applicable to anyone outside of that situation. Maybe, again, it’s a curse of normalcy. And really, I didn’t expect much better after picking up Felicia Day’s recently released memoir You’re Never Weird on the Internet (almost), but something spoke to me in that Barnes & Noble, or maybe (there’s a lot of uncertainty here) I just opened up—in my own abnormal happenstance—to the one page that would guarantee the book’s purchase.
I’ll be honest: I don’t exactly know how to go about reviewing a memoir. It’s not like I can really go about judging representation in their own lives, or say “wow, that was totally unrealistic” because, obviously, it happened. For real. Not to mention that, personally, judging it as either “good” or “bad” seems like judging someone’s entire life, which no one has the right to do (unless they’re objectively bad in the “serial murderer leading a death cult” kind of way). The one conclusion I can come to, though, is that after everything’s said and done, it feels like Day is still trying to navigate through life, and while not always good, there’s something relatable and comforting about that.
Howdy readers! LGG&F will be on a break for Thanksgiving, but don’t worry! We’ll be back December 2nd for the content you’re all here for. For now, though, let’s talk about the holidays.
Not too long ago, I ventured into my local Barnes and Noble in search of a specific book I’ve had my eye on for many days. You know, for an early Xmas gift to myself. Though I scoured the teen section high and low, I couldn’t find it and resigned myself to missing out on the fairy tale re-telling goodness I was going after. However, then a strange mood hit me: on that day, I was damned if I was going to leave the store empty-handed! So after looping around the aisle a couple times, I finally picked out another book and left the store feeling apprehensive, but intrigued.
As it’s November and media has dictated that we should already be waist deep in mistletoe and and various other Decemberween/Festivus/etc. accoutrements, I was immediately drawn to something with that sort of holiday feel to it. But unlike many, I… never had any attachment to the story of The Nutcracker. Sure, I know the story and Tchaikovsky’s music, but I never went to see the ballet in person. In fact, I can’t ever recall liking the old tale that much. Despite my indifference, with a promising endorsement from Marissa Meyer (author of Cinder) endorsed in sugar plum purple on the cover and the promise of much more than dancing rats and swordfights, I journeyed into the world of Claire Legrand’s Winterspell. At the end of it all, I truly felt like I had weathered a great battle, but not necessarily for the reasons Legrand was intending.
Spoilers beneath the cut, and trigger warnings for rape and sexual harassment.
Hello, and welcome back after the short break, readers! For our American audience, I hope you all had an enjoyable Fourth filled with family, friends, food, and maybe a good book. As I sat in one of the fields where we set off fireworks in my town, I hoped to pass the time with a book that the cover was eager to hail as a “sexy fairy tale” and “a bittersweet story about the tides that tug at the human heart”. By this point it’s no secret that I’m a fan of fairy tales, and especially re-tellings of the tried and true fables we’ve come to know over the centuries. So picking up Mermaid by Carolyn Turgeon seemed like a no-brainer to me—plus, she’s a local author, and I wanted to support her. However, instead of a “sexy” twist to the story of The Little Mermaid, all I ended up getting was the same exact damned story with a couple more named characters, and I wanted to stop reading after the first twenty pages of the book. Spoilers to follow.
I’ve always been a fan of animation and CGI, so when I saw the trailer for Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart, I immediately wanted to see it. The English dub recently came out, and I’ve had a chance to watch it. Oddly enough this movie wasn’t anything like what I had expected. It’s not bad, per sé; rather, it was very overwhelming. There are a lot of directing and writing choices that are either clichéd or baffling. Someone (like myself) watching this film for the first time may not be able to follow the fast pace and references the movie makes without knowing the original source material. I thought the film was a standalone project, and was really disappointed by how generic the story was. When I researched the film further, I found the movie is more about the music than it is the story.
The movie is based off of the album by the French band Dionysus. The album, La Mécanique du Cœur, or “The mechanics of the heart”, started as a novel written by the lead singer of the band, Mathias Malzieu. Malzieu co-directed the film, while Dionysus composed the soundtrack for the film. It’s strange, since the film has a different ending from the novel/album, and I personally don’t understand why they changed it.