I have to blog (read here: brag) on this fine sunny Monday, because I just saw this review of “The Infernal History of the Ivybridge Twins” (my novelette which is extremely available for purchase in both Historical Lovecraft and the brand-spankin-new The Book of Cthulhu) by none other than the magnificent and mighty Caitlín R. Kiernan:
“Last night. . . I read another story from The Book of Cthulhu, Molly’s Tanzer’s “The Infernal History of the Ivybridge Twins.” And wow, this one’s a keeper. I’d never encountered this author before, but … imagine H. P. Lovecraft refracted through the lenses of Lemony Snicket, Edward Gorey, and any number of Victorian authors, and you get this wonderful and delightfully perverse short story. Brava, Ms. Tanzer … “The Infernal History of the Ivybridge Twins” is very, very good, and I’ll be keeping my eye open for additional work by that author.”
Holy shit? Holy shit! I loved Lemony Snicket’s series, read the whole thing from A Bad Beginning to The End, and, well, it’s not for a want of affection for Mr. Gorey’s work that I have a tattoo on my wrist of Beelphazoar from The Disrespectful Summons. It’s hard for me to imagine more lovely comparisons.
Many, many thanks, Caitlín! And thanks again to Ross Lockhart for reprinting “Infernal History” in The Book of Cthulhu, and to Silvia Moreno-Garcia and Paula R. Stiles for allowing my story to make Historical Lovecraft an infinitely less classy project. The Twins remain my favorite creations to date, and seeing they’re giving pleasure to others is a wonderful feeling.
Jesse linked me to this review of Running with the Pack, from prolific and awesome reviewer Nancy (AKA temporaryworlds on LJ) in which. . . OK, you know what? This is my first sale and my first review and so I’m going to selfishly pull out the pertinent quote and just put it up in all its glory:
“In Sheep’s Clothing” is a sci-fi/dystopian short story about the downfall of our society, and what happens after that. Reading this story reminded me a lot of “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson. The werewolf aspect is not obvious at first, but it’s done quite well. Tanzer has created a fantastic voice in “In Sheep’s Clothing,” and the twist at the end is really well done. If you’re going to only read one story in this collection, read this one. I think it’s my favorite. Five stars.
Tag this under “totally thrilled” because. . . well, OK. I mean, you read it.
Nancy reviews each and every story in the anthology and gives it an overall ranking of four and a half stars (which means, according to her system, “very enjoyable book. Any flaws were minimal and did not diminish enjoyment). I have to say, from what I’ve read so far, I have to agree. In particular, I have to say that Jeffrey Ford’s “The Beautiful Gelreesh” and Jesse Bullington’s “Blamed for Trying to Live” are worth the cover price alone.
I’ve been holding back on talking about RwtP until I finished the anthology, but I had to jump the gun as a result of this review and thus am certainly neglecting some worthy stories. But, uh, I couldn’t resist.
Tomorrow the all-new Films of High Adventure will go up (I am having PTSD just writing the entry for this one), but for today, mellow out with Rainy Mood. Seriously, do yourself a favor. As a mood-lift or a writing aid, it’s amazing!
Personally, I’m enjoying the combo I’m rocking right now: rain + Aufs Lautenwerck, an album of Bach’s lute and harpsichord music. I’ve heard, via J.T. Glover, that the Goldberg Variations are also awesome.
OK, yeah. My husband is awesome. He just read a book and posted a reveiw of it on GoodReads, and I laughed and wanted to re-post it. Full disclosure: I have not read this book. Further disclosure: had I read it, I have no idea if I would agree with these sentiments. I just liked it, and wanted to share. So there.
Excession, by Iain M. Banks: A review by John
God damn do I love a good space opera! My hat is off to Iain M. Banks for the Culture series. I read my first Culture novel a while back when my good buddy Jesse gave me Consider Phlebas (the first novel in the Culture series) and I read it and it was good. But this book, the fourth in the series (I think), is just incredible. It’s one of those books with a million characters that you can’t keep track of doing a hundred things that don’t have any real impact on the actual plot but is just awesome because it is in outer space and involves sentient fucking spaceships battling tentacled monsters in hyperspace. Or something like that. I honestly couldn’t keep track of it all but loved it anyway because Banks writes the kind of sci-fi in which everything is possible. Everything. Sentient spaceships with cool names like “The Steely Glint”? Check. Being able to change your biological sex, grow wings, live forever? Check. A talking bird? Check. Growing a sample of your own skin in a vat and then sending that skin to a tailor so that tailor can make a stylish suit for you to wear? Check.
Actual plot? I’m not really sure. There were the tentacled things, called– seriously– the Affront, and there were the sentient spaceships, and there were some normal people for some reason that I think involved a baby. And there was the Excession, of course. What is an Excession, you ask? It’s something that’s excessive. In what way? I have no idea. It pretty much just sits around in space for the whole novel.
Do you love space opera? Do you think the only thing missing from Dune was more weird shit that didn’t make any sense? Then you should read this book, and the Culture series in general. Just look at the god-damned cover: a space ship that looks like a big gun floating around a dark sphere with binary code faintly playing across the background. I can hear the space Valkyries singing.
I’ve been quiet over here due to my recent concentration on personal projects (though watch for tomorrow’s Films of High Adventure installment, we’re reviewing Red Sonja!), but just for yuks, I’m posting this Daily Show clip.
I don’t usually watch the Daily Show, and I admit to being less amused than I used to be by Mr. Stewart’s zany mugging, but this. . . oh my. Perhaps it’s just that (like everyone else) I am occasionally spammed with dreadful, insane conservative propaganda “fair and balanced” email forwards which reek of the sort of paranoid hand-wringing Fox News’s “reporting” tends to inspire in certain segments of the American population espouse views different than my own, but this really made me smile.
I finished the first draft of my first solo novel today. Though I typed THE END, it is so far from being finished I feel intimidated rather than elated. That’s OK! I have a plan. I hope.
Also, I received the check for my first pro sale today! Hells yes.
Jesse Bullington and I have (perhaps foolishly) decided to embark upon a quest: watching “classic” fantasy (and, for today, “science fiction”) movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. We’ll be posting one every Friday. . . at least, that’s the goal.
The Film:Barbarella (1968)
Also known as: Barbarella: Queen of the Galaxy
WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? Jean-Claude Forest source comic strips, script by committee but notably Terry Southern (Dr. Strangelove), directed by Roger Vadim (…And God Created Woman), swinging soundtrack by Michel Magne, “acting” by Jane Fonda, John Philip Law, Anita Pallenberg, Milo O’Shea, and Marcel Marceau
Quote: “I’ll do things to you that are beyond all known philosophies! Wait until I get my devices!”
Alternate quote: “De-crucify the angel or I’ll melt your face.”
First viewing by Molly: As an impressionable late-teenager
First viewing by Jesse: A few years ago?
Most recent viewing by both: Last week.
Impact on Molly’s (late) childhood development: Astronomical. My friend Daniel Blair showed this to me during my first semester of college and it blew my fucking mind. I had never seen such a vibrantly campy, unabashedly sexy film. The film (in conjunction with said Mr. Blair’s vigilant tutelage) launched several of my more unwholesome obsessions, like vintage erotica, corsetry, and costumes as elaborate as they are raunchy.
Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: Negligible. Aware it existed, not much else. If only…
Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:
Molly’s thoughts prior to re-watching: I have watched Barbarella every few years since my first viewing, including showing it to many uninitiated folks. When Jesse and I started toying with the idea of this project, I had a hard time immediately coming up with influential fantasy films I saw as a kid, mainly because I never really watched that many fantasy movies, barring a late-high school anime craze. I saw Legend (which we’re definitely doing for this), The Neverending Story, Edward Scissorhands, and The Nightmare Before Christmas, as well as some animated bizarro-fests like The Maxx and The Last Unicorn and The Secret of NIMH. I also sawa few other things that appealed to my nascent sensibilities (The Rocky Horror Picture Show, omfg), but it was college before I really started discovering what made me tick in terms of stuff I’d seek out, if that makes sense. Barbarella was the first film that I knew we really had to do, for my part, just because, well, when I think of things that really made a younger me sit up, prick-eared and bushy-tailed, Durand Durand and his Excessive Machine immediately jumped to mind. This viewing promised something new for me, as well, as I’d just recently discarded my beloved VHS copy for a widescreen DVD.
Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: Molly expressed incredulity at my never having seen Barbarella at some point in our friendship and so a screening was arranged with her husband John and my wife Raechel. Previously the extent of my familiarity consisted of a scene I had caught on television where Barbarella is menaced by parakeets:
And that was it. I anticipated something along the lines of Flash Gordon but Barbarellawas actually a high-booted step closer to Flesh Gordon only, you know, watchable. I remember enjoying the film more than I expected when the four of us screened it but John is something of a savant in the ways of mixology and so the pan galactic gargleblasters (or maybe they were Long Island iced teas) he was administering may have helped. Going into the re-watch with Molly I was sober as a parson and thus afraid, very afraid.
Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: I still love this film, every minute of it, even the overly-long psychedelic space/mathmos/dream chamber scenes. Also, widescreen makes a ton of difference! I mean, it always does, but damn! So awesome. Watching it is seriously like hanging out with an old friend, re-telling stories you’ve both heard a million times but they’re still hilarious. Even though I know it’s coming, when the wicked twins put Barbarella on the ice-toboggan and she says “But I haven’t skied in ages!” I laugh every time. The scene where the Catchman takes off his furs to reveal what must be the inspiration for Austen Powers’ chest-mane, still so good. The very “explanations” of things are amazing (the plummeting spaceship telling Barbarella “I’ve been repaired in reverse!” What? When Professor Ping shows Barbarella some mustached man with a hole in his chest, he just says “That is one of the Grand Grotesques—that’s the classic way of ending life in the Labyrinth.” Okay?). And the costumes! Oh, the costumes! And then there’s the whole subplot of How Pygar Got His Groove Back, which is outstanding, especially the scene of Jane Fonda in his nest, post-scromp, just covered in feathers.
I think the brilliance of the film is its camp—sure, the special effects are dated, but when you watch it, the utter lack of CGI gives it this amazing quality of “holy shit, they made all these props/set pieces by hand, with love.” The sinister Excessive Machine, the Catchman’s Ice-Wind-Craft (or whatever), the cityscapes of SoGo. . . glorious. And, unlike The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which, if memory serves, kind of slows down in its third act, Barbarella just keeps going, building upon itself, until it’s just hitting you in the face with awesome: Barbarella encounters larésistance only to find it woefully understaffed and headed by a sex-obsessed weirdo named (seriously) Dildano! Barbarella escapes only to be captured by Durand Durand who puts her in The Excessive Machine, which breaks because it simply can’t keep up with Barbarella’s ability to take pleasure! Barbarella is put into the Tyrant of SoGo’s dream-chamber only to release the concentrated evil of the Mathmos! Barbarella is protected from the Mathmos because of her innocence! Which looks like a bubble! Pygar rescues Barbarella and the Tyrant, and when Barbarella asks why he saved the Tyrant, he just answers “an angel has no memory.” And that’s the end of the film! Fucking shit! Yes! What?
Not to make too much of this terrible fucking movie, but really, as problematic of a cosmic-space-bimbo as the titular character truly is, there was, for younger me, something very liberating about her attitude to sex. I’d not really seen anything like it. She is active and enthusiastic about it, aggressively soliciting sex from males by the middle/end of the film. She’s not just an object of desire for the intended viewership (though the visual thrill of Jane Fonda in skimpy costumes is not to be denied, esp. as you see her nipples)—she turns the tables by demanding consideration as a subject. Sort of. At least, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: Whooooooooa. Barbarella psychedela. First off, I’ve gotta say that watching this movie sans inebriating beverages was a big ol’ mistake, because the sober millennial mind just cannot handle the visual overload of this late-sixties film without recoiling. Just. . . Jesus, they were not even fooling around with this. The colors, the colors. . .
Molly’s right about the costumes, and definitely right about the camp. In contrasting it with Flash Gordon, which shares its lavish sets, costumes, and overall look, I think the main things missing here are Brian Blessed and Timothy Dalton, and a soundtrack by Queen. If the two films could be fused into one I think you’d have a serious contender on your hands but alone Barbarella, like Flash Gordon, falls short of perfection; perhaps it was not seen quite early enough in my life for me to really love it. It’s fun, definitely, and has some stunningly ridiculous sequences, but overall never becomes more than vintage eye candy—which is of course just fine when all one wants is something sweet and colorful.
A note for anyone calling shenanigans on Barbarella qualifying as fantasy—you’re right, it isn’t. But if we didn’t also do science fiction than Molly would never let me pick Krull, as she insists it’s sci-fi and not fantasy (Molly says: It is!!). She’s wrong, of course (bullshit!), but we’ll get to that in due time. Oh, and apparently his name is Durand-Durand, but tell that to the architects of “Hungry Like the Wolf.”
Some quick Barbarella highlights: killer dolls, killer kids, Barbarella smoking a dude out of a hookah (!?), candy coated decadence, playful debauchery, wanton wantonness, mutants, freaks, pervs, angels, and, of course, Jane Fonda’s skunk tail.
molly says: i totally had this image as a poster over my bed all during college
Final Verdict: A film so awesome it doesn’t matter that the actual plot makes no sense whatsoever.
I’m seriously closing in on the end of The Book. Like, less than five chapters away, probably more like three and a half, and I’ll have a draft. Seriously, omfg.
But! I’ll be taking some breaks over the next few days, tomorrow to post the next installment of Films of High Adventure, which will be on Barbarella, Queen of the Universe (yes!), and Monday, my review of Real Unreal: Best American Fantasy.
I haven’t said a lot about the content of my in-the-works novel here, mostly because I am insane and superstitious, but in celebration of that just-in-sight finish line, I’m posting three songs that have really gotten me through the tough spots in the writing. But with no explanation of why, of course. Enjoy!
Belly’s “Slow Dog,” for the ultimate in 90s song-writing technology:
Lizzie West’s “Chariot’s Rise,” with incredibly distressing footage from the Harry Potter movies featuring Ron and Hermione, but it was the only version I could find with the sound enabled:
Susumu Hirasawa’s “Forces,” from the Berserk soundtrack:
Jesse Bullington and I have (perhaps foolishly) decided to embark upon a quest: watching “classic” fantasy movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. We’ll be posting one every Friday. . . at least, that’s the goal.
hoist and spread, both of you!
The Film: Conan the Barbarian (1982)
WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS???: Robert E. Howard source material, script by Oliver Stone and John Milius, directed by John Milius (Red Dawn), score by Basil Poledouris, acting by James Earl Jones and Mako, hackting by Arnold and Sandahl Bergman
First viewing by Jesse: ?
First viewing by Molly: A couple of weeks ago
Most recent viewing by both: A couple of weeks ago
Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: High. Released the year of my birth, which has to mean something.
Impact on Molly’s childhood development: Negligible. Aware it existed, not much else. I’d read some of Howard’s short stories, never saw the film.
Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: The majority of movies watched in one’s youth cannot live up to the false memories of awesomeness we imbue them with, especially films made in the 80s. Not so with Conan. The prospect of re-watching this quintessential barbarian epic filled me with equal parts joy and horror—joy to again watch such an amazing film, and horror because I knew exposing Molly to the movie would result in her joining the cult of Cimmeria. . . and insisting we watch those other Howard adaptations of the 80s, Red Sonja and Conan the Destroyer. No matter. A strong man does not fear such things as pain, even when said pain is pretty goddamn severe.
I actually came to Conan the Barbarian a little later in my development than some of the movies we’ll be covering here, but I made up for lost time by going on a huge Conan kick in high school thanks to my friend Jimmy. In true snob fashion I eschewed the L. Sprague de Camp stuff and went for pure Howard with most favorable results. I wrote an article for the school paper titled “Why Conan is Better Than You” and in my senior year created and successfully snuck into the final product a yearbook page for Conan—I’ll see if I can’t dig it out and scan it at some point in the future.
Being older and presumably a little wiser, I went into the re-watch both anticipating good action movie times expecting to possibly cringe a bit, both at the movie and my own youthful fondness for such a testosterone-dripping, beefcake picture.
Molly’s thoughts prior to initial viewing: I had heard the soundtrack a few times during various role playing games (hell yeah, I’m awesome), and I had seen the first 45 minutes or so of the film, I think up until the scene where Conan and Valeria start doing it and being all rich and stuff after their heist. I remember being impressed with the opening sequence with James Earl Jones rolling up on the village and just being a total piece of shit with the best weave in the ancient world, but not much else. I don’t think I was in the right state of mind. For years I said I’d finish it, especially when Jesse and I watched some Russian movie called, I think, Grey Wolf of the Clan of the Greyhound Wolves, which just doesn’t even pretend to do anything other than plagiarize the Conan-as-a-kid-watching-his-parents-die verbatim, but it was never the right time. Then the other night, it was The Time. I asked Jesse if we could just real quick re-watch Conan’s mom get iced, he obliged. . . then beauty began. We watched it the whole way through, occasionally whooping with admiration and high-fiving one another like two nerds who’ve lost their old role-playing group. . . wait.
Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: HOLY SHIT THAT MOVIE IS EVEN BETTER THAN I REMEMBERED. By Crom’s mullet, I was a fool to ever doubt this movie in any way. Wildly offensive, dumb as a sack of warhammers, and beautiful, beautiful beyond words. This holds up perhaps better than any other childhood fantasy movie, with elements from disparate Howard stories and mythoi all jumbled together into the quintessential barbarian movie.
Highlights: Mako’s voiceover at the beginning. The soundtrack. Any time James Earl Jones opens his mouth—any time. The fierce look on Arnold’s face as/immediately after he kills some random goon. The Wheel of Pain! The Tree of Woe! James Earl Jones’ Spinal Tap refugee sidekicks! Conan reminiscing about picking berries as a child with his father!!! FUCK YES!!!!! Hell, this even got me excited to watch Red Sonja and Destroyer again.
a few years ago, they were just another snake cult
Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: God damn! God damn! What the fuck was wrong with me that I didn’t immediately love this film? I am, at this point, completely convinced that if Jesus truly reigns in Heaven, He is pissed as hell that Arnold Schwarzenegger didn’t play Him as a sword-wielding savior in The Passion of the Christ, laying waste to the Pharisees and shit. Barring that, I’m certain He is mad that they didn’t at least get Basil Poledouris to do the score, because there is nothing better than the Conan score.
So here is the long and short of it: this movie is awesome. Mako’s voice-overs are fucking spectacular (“HE WAS BRED TO THE FINEST STOCK.” Who wrote that line and thought it was OK? SOMEONE AWESOME), and just the overall scriptwriting is amazing. I actually got a little emotional when they’re burning Valeria’s funeral pyre and Subotai says the line about weeping for Conan because Conan will not weep. I also loved the non-Western aesthetic of everything, even if it is questionably racist at times. The sheer size of the swords alone was fantastic, especially after that twee bullshit that was Narsil/Anduril in The Lord of the Rings movies. FUCK YES. Eat it, elves.
fuuuuuuuuck yeeeeeeesssssssss
Also, just to class up this review, holy fuck, gender in this movie! Is actually pretty awesome! Mostly. The sex-witch. . .whatever, and I know one could chalk up Conan’s mom’s sword-wielding as maternal devotion, but it’s still bad as fuck. Additionally, Valeria. Though Sandahl Bergman’s acting leaves something to be desired (that “something” is quality) it doesn’t matter, because she is so awesome! She doesn’t do anything but kick ass and have sex with hot dudes and steal shit and call bullshit on hare-brained Conan schemes. Then when she comes back to help out and stuff, during the orgy scene. . . okay. When she fell behind Conan and Subotai I fully expected some bullshit where she’s captured and they have to come back and save her, but NO OMG SHE TOTALLY FUCKING SAVES HERSELF and then is taken down by the ultimate cheap shot that is James Earl Jones magicking a snake into an arrow and shooting her. And then comes back as a valkyrie, grinning cuz she just saved Conan’s sorry ass. I mean, “sorry ass” in the sense that he and two other dudes just took down an army of goons, but still.
Well, at any rate, I loved it. I’m going to re-watch it again soon, probably. The gloriousness cannot rest after a single viewing. I’ve been quoting it at people in the most tiresome manner for days now, especially the scene Jesse already commented on where Conan goes all Robert Bly on Subotai and talks about his dad and stuff, and also I am half-considering getting the runes from Conan’s sword tattooed down my arm, for shits and giggles. We’ll see.
Final verdict: a big old FUCK YES from the both of us.
