http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Fri, 11 Nov 2005 10:43:18 EST http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding. Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/11/11/104318.php Ashok K. BankerIt takes bollocks to model oneself on an acknowledged master of the English novel of manners, that too no less a personage than E.M. Forster, whose mastery of craft was equalled only by his erudition on the craft of literary masterpieces. It takes even bigger bollocks to then take Forster's most accomplished masterpiece, Howard's End, raze it to the ground, strip its materials to brick, mortar, plank and panelling, relocate every item in the manner of a self-titled Lord of New England moving his just-purchased Scottish castle across the Atlantic, and rebuild it painstakingly into a literary edifice that seems perfectly at home in its new location and time. But having taken on that challenge, it then takes bollocks the size of cannonballs to go ahead and title the book in question On Beauty and then make it beautiful in every sense: prose, structure, characterization, dialogue, metaphor, even the artful references to art woven into the narrative. An astonishing literary act of genius, that actually manages to out-Forster Forster and out-Zadie Zadie Smith. And yet, that is Zadie Smith's third novel, the Booker-nominated On Beauty. Pause here for applause. A long pause. Smith might have lost the Booker, but not by much. In any case, the whopping success of On Beauty guarantees her much fatter royalty cheques than the long-deserving John Banville whose superlative The Sea neatly kippered the coveted prize from under her polished fingernails. She won't be left grasping: already laden with her share of trophies, she can be sure to fetch more for the groaning mantlepiece in the months and years to come. One of Britain's youngest novelists, she has not stopped manufacturing brilliance ever since she burst onto the literary scene with White Teeth, and while her sophomore effort The Autograph Man disappointed a few, she more than makes up for it with this elegant, poised, and almost perfect third submission.That On Beauty is a masterpiece of modern fiction, you need not doubt. Lay it out bold and clear in 22 pt. sans serif font for the literary headlines. This is not simply a very good book, it's a great book. Granted, it's subject and content may not warrant such adulation, this being a simple comedy of manners rather than the epic saga of an entire nation beset by war, civil strife or some more heart-rendingly important crisis. But it's not so much the book itself or the material therein, as what Smith achieves with it. Like stale clay grown hard in desert winds, she pours wet talent and breathes warm life to create a flesh and blood being with pink cheeks, hot breath and a figure that Salome would die for. The plot is nothing to write home about--or waste much of a review on. Like Forster's classic Howard's End, this is a novel about family, the connections between its members, and the lack or loss of those connections. The Kipps, a racially mixed (and very mixed-up) family living in New England, USA, form the core of the story. A failed, embittered Rembrandt scholar, the white English father Howard (of course) is struggling after an extramarital indiscretion to woe his African-American wife Kiki, while fighting a losing battle to keep the filial links to his two sons and daughter. The novel starts with a crisis as Howard flies to London to try to rescue his younger son Jerome from a hasty marriage to the daughter of a rival intellectual, who seems to acquire the success Howard craves so easily and plentifully. Later, when the Belseys come to stay in the USA, becoming virtual neighbours to the Kipps, the bitter long-running rivalry, lingering heartache, smouldering sexual attractions, class envy, all simmer to a boil. There are times when On Beauty seems poised to slip into Tom Wolfe territories of racial-class conflict, but almost at once slips quicksilver-swift into a variety of homages: apart from the intrepid Wolfe-ish play on the human politics of race differences in contemporary America and England, there's also a vivacious post-Dickensian dissection of social politics, constantly running, incisive intellectual debate-in-dialogues that would have made the late Robertson Davies proud, the uneasy explorations of self and mood that strongly recall the best of Beattie, those wonderfully rambling artistic descriptive digressions of Updike...there are too many minds at work here at times to seem plausible even in a pastiche, yet Smith writes masterfully in all these many hands, drawing them all together like a coach-master wrangling a 16-horse team, to make the whole entirely her creation. Not once in this ambitious, building, resonant novel does she falter, there are no weak passages or clumsy rifts. Every marvellous sentence, every metaphor, every finely observed nuance of action, profane slang, class mannerism, is pitched forth with perfect effect. What does one do with a book this well crafted except acknowledge it for what it is: a masterpiece in its own right. This is the first Zadie Smith novel I've read. I voted it down, unread, when picking my preferred Booker winner, and by a remarkable coincidence (or very fine judgement) my choice won. But having read On Beauty now, long after the hue and cry and hype has died down, I can't but wish that she wins many other prizes, to add to the already chart-topping sales she's currently enjoying on both sides of the big salty Atlantic. This is one new writer who can't be hyped enough, and whose talent is too big to be contained in any one book, however brilliant. Zadie Smith has big bollocks, massive ones, and it looks like she's going to put them to great use in a great number of books. And we're the better for it. Books39390@blogcritics.org Fri, 11 Nov 2005 10:43:18 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/10/24/100443.php Ashok K. BankerNovels that raise religious hackles under the guise of re-exploring lesser known historical periods, and exposing hitherto unknown 'secrets' are generally controversial, or at least contentious. That's not the case with this historical religious novel, though not for want of trying.Despite it's author's questionable motives, it's with some relief that I report that Guardian of the Dawn hasn't really raised any hue and cry anywhere in India. It's not even made any major ripples in literary circles, let alone irked the desi (local) overlords of organized religion in this part of the world. And that's something of a relief, this being, after all, the country that first raised the controversy over Salman Rushdie's The Satanic Verses and whose religious clerics even issued the first fatwah against the author. (The Iranian fatwah followed the Indian one several months later and quickly overshadowed our one, thanks to their superior use of the international media.)In contrast, whether in India or elsewhere, literary works that dealt strongly with the Jewish-Christian divide have traditionally attracted great media attention. Palestine, Joe Sacco's brilliant work of journalism in graphic novel form, was simultaneously hailed as an important expose of Israeli occupation of the West Bank as well as derided for its allegedly one-sided view. Dan Brown's Da Vinci's Cold&#8212achoo! achoo! excuse me, I mean The Da Vinci Code, of course&#8212was famously the subject of much furious debate in the Vatican and various Christian forums, even as it broke publishing records and sold some 26 million copies (and still counting), a few hundred thousand of which were probably sold within Patriot-missile strike distance of where I sit. But I'd wager a bet that you're not likely to see Guardian of the Dawn embroiled in any such media controversy, even though, by his own admission, the author would like the world to take his book as seriously as any work of journalism or historical expose. Why, you wonder? What's all the fuss about? Well, to understand that, you have to first know a bit more about the book itself. Guardians is a work of historical fiction, the third in a trilogy by Portugese-Jewish author Zimler (his description of himself, not mine) about a Portugese-Jewish family (of course) in various time-periods. The previous two books in the Zarco family series, The Last Kabbalist of Lisbon, and Hunting Midnight were set in the 16th and 19th centuries, and dealt with various branches and generations of Zarcos in various countries and continents. This third book (but not last, it would seem) is set in 16th century Goa, India, during the period of Portugese colonialism. So it's with particular interest that I read it, and am sure many other fellow Indians will be reading it. After all, Goa today is a prime holiday destination for vacationeers from all over the world, with direct flights from several western countries and is often regarded as our answer to the Bahamas, Caymans, and other sun-and-surf paradises. And it's a rich culture with many beautiful aspects, not the least of which is its wonderful Portugese-Catholic heritage. In fact, Goa became independent of Portugal and joined the sovereign democractic republic of India less than half a century ago. So you can see how close and how intimate its European ties must be.But this is not the Goa that Zimler is writing about, mind you. So don't get out our suntan lotion or pack that bikini. In fact, dress for wintry cold. And leave your Portugese e-translator at home, please.The main characters are the first-person narrator Ti (short for Tiago) and his sister Sofia, and their father. The three of them live simple, idyllic lives on a plantation just on the outskirts of the colony of Goa, hewing to their Portugese-Goan faith, while dabbling freely in the Hindu festivals and rituals of their friends, neighbours&#8212and later, lovers. On one hand, it's a more or less typical coming-of-age story about adolescent lust and love, youthful adventures and friendships, and the warm yet sadness-tinged relationship between father and son. The prose is simple and the narrative pleasant without any overly dramatic highs or lows, and there's a great emphasis on emotional states and sometimes oddly nuanced feelings that a Freudian psychiatrist could probably have a field day interpreting.But then comes the event that turns this deceptively simple historical family saga into something more sinister: Due to the daughter's liaision with an outsider, first the father, then the son, are arrested and imprisoned by the Inquisition. And then begins a tale of torture and suffering, misery and betrayal that would make the Count of Monte Cristo cringe (but without the adventure and high drama of Dumas's classic). The Catholic priests who have been 'informed' of the heresy committed by the Zarcos in intermingling with their Hindu friends&#8212and by simply being Jewish to begin with&#8212are painted as utterly evil sadists, with only a few human characteristics. And the Catholic priest at the helm of this campaign of torture and ethnic cleansing of sorts is alllegedly none other than Francis Xavier, who was later sainted largely for his achievements during this very campaign and occupies an iconic position in modern India as well, with any number of schools, colleges, other instituitions named after him, and his saintly stature beyond reproach. As my mother was a Catholic, an Anglo-Indian no less, with roots in Goa (and, to be fair, Dutch-Irish-Scots stock as well), I've visited the basilica of St. Francis myself, and even seen his still recognizable body, preserved in a condition that is considered a miracle of faith. Even though I'm not a Catholic myself, I still have enough veneration for this iconic figure to bristle at the thought of him being made out to be some kind of Indian Torquemado of the Inquisition!In a short but impassioned Afterword, author Zimler sets forth his outrage and shock at researching this period of Portugese-Jewish history (and Indian history too, of course) and learning of the "tens of thousands" of innocent Hindus and Jews who were tortured and slaughtered by the "fanatical" priest Xavier. And he even dedicates the book itself "To the many thousands of men, women, and children who were imprisoned by the Inquisition in India." This is all very well, and had Zimler authored a scholarly study of the period and events, we might be able to share his outrage and horror as he unfolded research proving said events and acts. But as a work of historical fiction, and by an author whose previous books have mined similar religious revisionism (or re-interpretation, to be fair) for the purposes of crafting popular bestselling fiction, it's difficult to take him or this book very seriously. There are other problems with Guardian: As a historical novel, it's not particularly enjoyable. This is no rousing Micheneresque epic, nor a soapy Thornbirds or even Colleen McCullough's clunkily written but magnificently imagined Masters of Rome series. In fact, most of the book is quite dull, and even downright depressing at times. As for the portions that provoked Mr Zimler's outrage, well, they're not really something you'll enjoy much, take it from me, unless reading sadomasochism is high on your literary priorities. It certainly doesn't live up to Zimler's own goal of reinterpreting Othello in the tradition of Jane Smiley's A Thousand Acres or Jean Rhys' The Wide Sargossa Sea. And as a religious-social polemic, attempting to expose so-called Catholic "fanaticism" and sadistic excesses against non-believers in 16th century Goa, even if it has its facts right, it still has its heart in the wrong place. But as a novel of outrage over a mini 'holocaust' of sorts, it fails completely. I'd rather reread Schindler's Ark again, or go see the brilliant but harrowing Hotel Rwanda once more, or even just read a good aga-saga than waste time over this mediocre pseudo-historical. For that matter, even the painfully overhyped Da Vinci's Cold (achoo! Bless you, my son) had some entertainment value while also educating us a bit. Guardian of the Dawn, on the other hand, is unreadable as good historical fiction and unlikely as a bestseller. To Indians who look for books about our country, it's yet another addition to the long list of grossly embarrassing books that exploit the 'exotic' and 'colourful' aspects of our great national heritage, without truly coming to terms with the real India. Skip it. Visit Goa instead. And find a better book for the beach than this one. Edited: PC Books38415@blogcritics.org Mon, 24 Oct 2005 10:04:43 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/10/19/123204.php Ashok K. BankerHere's a Halloween read that I'd bet you don't have on your list, and yet, you absolutely should, must, will check it out. Because it embodies the heart and soul of the season's spirit. A ghost story, a supernatural thriller, with no gore, no horror fest over-the-top violence (actually almost no violence at all), and yet it creeps into your heart, stirs your senses more violently than a pitcherful of tequila shots (if they're even drunk in pitchers, as if I'd know) and does to you what only the finest fiction aspires to achieve: it leaves you moved almost to the point of tears, and so satisfied, you turn the last page immensely sad, and yet immensely content.Now, let's talk about M. Night Shyamalan.If M. Night Shyamalan ever makes a sequel to The Sixth Sense, he should seriously consider adapting Lost Boys. The very fact that Lost Boys was first published way back in 1992, years before Shyamalan made his dazzling debut that shot to the top of the biggest all-time grossers in Hollywood history, makes me wonder for a moment. Could it be that the talented young Indian American director (his first name is 'Manoj' and he was born in Chennai, formerly called Madras) actually read Lost Boys in its first publication? Because, if he didn't, then the 'twist in the tale' of both The Sixth Sense and Lost Boys is more than amazing; it's close to supernatural!Well, Shyamalan is certainly talented enough to have come up with his zinger of a 'twist' entirely on his own, and his stately, sedate pacing, masterful direction, and superbly nuanced screenplay certainly made The Sixth Sense way more than a clever-idea film. But it's hard to believe that Lost Boys essayed an eeirily similar plot device, and did so years before Shyamalan's movie, and had no influence at all upon that standout film.Since I certainly don't know what did or didn't influence Shyamalan--for all I know, he's never even read an Orson Scott Card book in his life, I can only muse on that a moment, and then move on. Because it's enough to know that Lost Boys existed before The Sixth Sense and that it exists even now, in a reissued paperback edition along with a number of Orson Scott Card's other highly readable backlist novels. The reason for the reissue, presumably, is a change of publishers or a lapsing of rights. But there's also Card's new novel, Magic Street. Card is best known as the author of the Ender series of thoughtful science fiction novels, the linked Shadow series, and probably less-well known but equally loved for his Tales of Alvin Maker series of marvelous, magical alternate history novels. But what most SF readers don't know is that he's also the author of some wonderfully written, genuinely moving, and eeirily effective supernatural suspense novels. Lost Boys is part of this lesser known genre that Card has worked in over the years, but found little success in, compared to his SF novels at least. (Each instalment of the Shadow series has hit the New York Times Bestseller lists like clockwork and won him a whole new generation of young readers who weren't even in boxers when the Ender novels first came out. That situation might change now, with the publication of Magic Street, which, though I've read only a couple of chapters of so far, seems to be a wonderful urban fantasy, and happily, seems to be doing much better on the sales charts as well. Lost Boys isn't your typical supernatural novel. It's definitely not a horror novel, by any stretch of the genre imagination. There's no violence in it, no explicit horror, and almost all the tension and suspense comes from the conflicts and crises faced by the characters in their everyday lives. In this sense it reminds of the excellent suspense thrillers of Douglas Kennedy, especially The Job and The Big Picture both of which rely more on the daily work-and-relationship problems of their protagonists rather than John Grisham-type mega-million dollar stakes or mafia assassins or any of the usual suspense thriller fight-or-flight devices. (Although, Kennedy's novels have plenty of violence, as well as fight and flight both!)On the surface, it's a deceptively simple book. Card even starts each chapter with nursery rhyme-like opening sentences... "This is the car they drove..." "This is the house they moved into..." "This is the company where Step worked..."...and so on right to the last chapter (which starts thus:"This is how the Fletchers found their way to the end of 1983..."This is a novel about a family. Step Fletcher, his pregnant wife DeAnne, and their three children move to Steuben, North Carolina, because that's the only place where he's been able to get a job after his royalty income from the bestselling computer game he designed slows to a trickle. The job is with a small computer software firm whose sole claim to fame and success is a word processing program. Step is heavily under-employed here, a brilliant game programmer forced to take this humiliating middling-pay job in order to support his family through this financial crisis. (It's 1983. There's a recession on.) The job turns out to be an awful one; his boss is an ass, his department head is literally a Dick, and the only friend he gets along with there, a young, brilliant programmer who's really the talent powering the engine of the firm, is possibly a child molestor who all but begs Step to let him babysit his children. As if.DeAnne isn't have it much easier. Managing three small kids, an advanced pregnancy, and the inevitable difficulties to settling into a new town and house are compounded when she and Step realize that their oldest child, 8-year old Stevie, is having a really hard time at his new school. If they believe Stevie's version, then his class teacher is a real monster, his classmates are mean country brats, and even his straight-A record isn't likely to save him from flunking the year. No wonder then that Stevie starts imagining fictitious playmates to spend his free time with, shunning his little kid brother and sister, and, after a while, even his mother and father. Of course, it takes them a long while to realize that he's telling the truth about how awful his teacher really is, and about those invisible 'friends'. It takes them even longer to understand that those 'friends' are really boys more or less his own age who went missing and are suspected to be the victims of a serial child-killer. By then of course, it's much too late.Now, the important thing to know about Lost Boys is that despite its quite routine story premise, it isn't written like a Christopher Golden or like most similar novels. On the contrary. Not once do we see the killer's point of view, or even Stevie's. Well, except for the very first chapter, more of a prologue really--but at that point, we don't know whose point of view it is, and I'm sure as hell not telling you. Almost the entire novel is divided between Step Fletcher's point of view and DeAnne Fletcher's point of view. The daily problems of Step's struggle to retain his dignity at his humiliating job while trying to find an escape route that will enable him to come out of his financial bind without losing the company medical insurance he needs so badly for DeAnne's pregnancy, DeAnne's artful and stressfull managing of the household, three kids, Stevie's problems at school, Step's late hours and work tension, her pregnancy, and the well-meaning but often intrusive, or downright aggressive fellow Mormons in the community, she's got a lot to juggle.Card's strength lies in plunging us so deeply into the lives and minds and problems of his protagonists, you have to actually remind yourself that this is a supernatural suspense novel, because it reads for the most part like any good mainstream fiction. But the supernatural element is an integral part of the story, and when it finally rears its scary head, trust me, you'll find all that emotional investment in the characters' lives and job hassles to be well worth the investment, for the payoff is fantastic. I won't give away much more about the plot of Lost Boys because that twist at the end is really something to savour. Even though its terribly sad, heartbreaking, and the poignancy of the last pages lingers with you for days after you put the book down.You should also know up front that Card is a Mormon whose books and stories are always deeply invested with his own personal, unique sense of morality. Don't worry, there's no preaching here. But yes, there is a lot of moralizing, and all of it is completely relevant and related to the characters and their situation. All the Fletcher family, kids included, are Card-carrying Mormons, you could say. (Sorry, couldn't resist that one!) And the book is all the better for it. Because its such a relief to read a good supernatural novel which isn't filled to gagging point with drunks, addicts, self-obsessed paranoics, and all those dysfunctional misfits that seem to be must-haves for most novels of this genre.Card's Mormonism manifests itself throughout this finely crafted, heartfelt novel as a warm, humane, beautifully rendered fable about a family of five wonderful human beings struggling to maintain dignity and balance in a time of great stress and conflict. It lifts the story to a plane of moral beauty that I've not found in many novels. It reminds me of the very first Orson Scott Card novel I read, decades ago, called Hot Sleep, a thinly veiled science fiction adventure with a biblical allegory. Or even his chilling, brilliant short stories in the early collection Unaccompanied Sonata in which the original short story 'Ender's Game' first appeared, and which he later expanded to novel form to find great success. I won't deny also that the book appealed to me, as a non-smoking, non-drinking father of two, with an amazingly similar moral outlook and that at times, I felt I was almost reading about myself and my family. And I'm a Hindu living in Mumbai, India! What I'm trying to say is that it's rare to find a good story about a good man. And Lost Boys is one such rare book. Since discovering it recently for the first time, I've quickly pounced on copies of Card's other supernatural suspense novels, Homebody, Treasure Chest and of course, Magic Street and I'll post reviews of each one here as I read it.This is a warm, beautiful, sad, humane, and ultimately, profoundly moving novel that deserves a place on any Halloween reading list this year or any year. And, if you give it a chance, a place in your heart as well. Books38179@blogcritics.org Wed, 19 Oct 2005 12:32:04 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/10/10/025437.php Ashok K. BankerRed Eye is a Hollywood Twin. That's my term for those high-concept films that Hollywood studios always churn out in pairs each year (often, even each season). Two films that have a similar premise, or 'concept', but substantially different 'development' in terms of casting, mounting, screenplay, etc. For example, Armageddon and Deep Impact. Mission to Mars and Red Planet. Volcano and Dante's Peak. You could probably go back about, oh, fifty years and find a whole series of Hollywood Twins; it might even be interesting to list and review them all, and then compare which twin is the real one, and which is the toni! But it's only the past decade or so, I gather, that Hollywood studios have hit upon a system for these Twin thingies. It goes something like this. Invariably, once someone in Tinsel Town gets a terrific movie concept, there's a mad rush to get it into production asap. And inevitably, someone at a rival studio just happens to hear about the concept and tells his or her boss, 'that's a film we should do'. But instead of butting heads and battling at the box office the following summer, the studios have apparently formed a loose, unwritten, protocol for dealing with such Twins. I don't know if they actually sit down and talk about these things or if they've just evolved this system to keep the competition from getting violently out-of-hand. Whatever it's origins, this 'Twins' protocal seems to include the following tenets:1. Not more than two such films will be released in any one year; 2. While the concepts for both films may be exactly the same--a volcano erupts in a populated urban area, endangering thousands of lives, a meteor is on a collision course with Earth, Earth finally gets a manned mission to Mars--the script developed from those concepts will be substantially different; 3. The casting, promotion and 'packaging' of the film will be different enough to enable audiences to instantly distinguish between them in the media as well as at theatres.Coming to Red Eye. It's the Hollywood Twin for this season. It's 'toni' being the Jodie Foster starrer Flightplan. And with both films releasing closely on one another's heels, it's tempting to just club both together and compare them. Which I'm not going to do. You can do it yourself. Watch both films, back to back, if you like, and see which one developed the concept more powerfully, cast it better, directed it more effectively, the whole nine yards. I'm content with just reviewing Red Eye here and now. Because Red Eye is not just a Twin, it's also the latest entry in the long-running career of the modern maestro of horror cinema, Wes Craven, and I want to talk about him as well. And of course, Rachel McAdams, because how can I talk about any movie this season without talking about Rachel McAdams!First of all, in my opinion at least, Red Eye is a big disappointment...to a Wes Craven fan. That qualification is important because, frankly, this isn't a bad moviecoaster at all; heck, it's actually a pretty good one to while away an hour and a half, and a fairly clean, family-friendly experience all in all. But I am a Craven fan, and so, to me, as a Craven film, it's disappointing. I guess that's because, when you're watching a big hitter, and he winds up and builds up, and then hits it--but it doesn't go halfway across the field, let alone out of the ballpark--then you're apt to be a mite disappointed. Craven, of course, in case you're not a horror film freak, began his career with the controversial and somewhat unpleasant slasher flick The Last House on the Left. But it's as the maker of the Nightmare on Elm Street films that he really made his name. More recently, he managed that rarest of rabbit-pulls: he developed and helmed a second mega-hit series of films, the Scream trilogy. In between, he found time to direct several lesser films with varying degrees of success, from the interesting Shocker to the disappointing recent werewolf film Video37681@blogcritics.org Mon, 10 Oct 2005 02:54:37 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/10/06/094332.php Ashok K. BankerNot many movies stand the test of time. Even fewer horror movies do. Horror movies are notoriously cheap on production and quality, and viewed ten or twenty years later, they're often more campy than chilling. You could actually get a bunch of friends your age together at Halloween, sit down with a lot of beverages (I'm a teetollar but you go ahead and have yourself a cold one) and crisp snacks, and spend a whole night howling and slapping your thighs while watching some of those old howlers. At some point, you'll call it a night (or morning of All Saints Day) and stand around the messed-up living room, going, 'How the hell did we ever find these things scary?' Call it the 20-year curse of low-budget horror movies, or call it just a nightmare on horror film production street, it's an unremmiting law of the genre that these flicks offer diminishing returns as time goes by.But a few horror movies manage to beat the rap. They still manage to work the same cruel magic on you, still manage to make you jump in your seat (watch out, oh crap, you got brewskie all over Marie's new couch covers, damnit, Tim!), wince a time or two, drop your jaw and mouth-breathe in anticipation, and even, at their finest moments, scare the bejeesus out of you. One of those rarities happens to be John Carpenter's Halloween movies. Not the whole 8-movie series, or hmm, is it 9?, but just three choice ones that I think still stand the test of time, and can give you a jump or two on that beer-stained couch.We all know the basic drill: On Halloween night in 1963, six year old Michael Myers brutally murdered his sister in the small town of Haddonfield Illinois. Now, 15 years later, on Halloween night 1978, he's escaped from a mental institution and decides to swing by the old home town to visit the old house, maybe stick a few trick or treaters while he's around, just for old time's sake. His old doc, Dr. Sam Loomis (played by Donald Pleasance back when he still had some turf on his roof, comes to warn Haddonfield Police that Michael might like to offer a more violent variation of the old trick-or-treat game, but of course, in the finest tradition of classic horror films, nobody takes him too seriously him until it's too late--way too late, halfway through the sequel in fact!A very young, blond, and extremely likable Jaime Lee Curtis stars in her first role as Laurie Strode and gets to play tag with the visiting Mr. Myers, for reasons that don't become clear until the end of Halloween II and which I won't give away here--not until you've seen the DVDs at least, heh heh heh. She's the babysitter who meets the overgrown brat out of hell for most of the movie, and she plays more or less the classic slasher flick victim heroine. Now, she's not a fighter, not really, but when it comes to the pinch, she doesn't just scream and say 'Stab me, stab me now' either. I'm just trying to warn you (or remind you, depending) that this is not about her versus The Shape (as Michael came to be called by fans of the series in later years). Because nothing can really fight The Shape or kill The Shape. But, ah, it's way too early for that still; we're still talking about the first film--or actually the first two films here.In case it's been a while since you've last visited this gem of 80's horror film-making, or, incredibly, haven't seen it at all as yet, then you should know that Halloween II continues exactly where the first film ended, literally moments after Laurie and Dr. Sam Loomis have had their climactic run-in with Michael, and after Michael has had a dramatic disagreement with a front lawn. I'd strongly recommend renting or buying both movies together. And if you want more, get Halloween H2O. It's by far the best of the sequels. But if you're like me, an inveterate horror film fan, you might still want to plough your way through the other five (or is it six) sequels as well. Well, why not make a night of it, right? Go ahead, have a blast.What makes Halloween (or Harrowing, as we call it in my house) was the quiet chill. This isn't a Nightmare on Elm Street entry, with explicit gore, or a Friday the Thirteenth movie with explicit teenage nudity. (Friday the Thirteenth, by the way, just took the Halloween formula, sexed it up, dumbed it down, and ran with it--and is still running, to the best of my knowledge. Keep going, fellas! I'm right behind you...not.) Sure, there is a lot of violence here, and a little shower-curtain nudity, but those are not the reasons why you watch a Halloween film. Halloween is one of the most tastefully made horror film franchises ever made. It's extremely well shot, with the camerawork capturing late Seventies smalltown USA so perfectly that it works just as well as a slice of life of that whole period. It doesn't even matter that the Special Features featurette tells you that the film/s were shot in suburban LA, not smalltown Illinois as the film claims. It's that whole 'feel' that it just gets so right. Throughout the film, the camera set-ups are just amazingly well done. Creeply, freaky, with beautifully designed lighting (the moments were Michael Myers steps out of the shadows into the gritty light is pure cinematic beauty), and masterfully designed movements and tracks. From the very first frame, Halloween looks and feels like a legit film, not just a low-budget horror flick, and that credibility and quality adds immeasurably to its viewing experience. It maintains that sedate stately camerawork throughout, even in the most horrific moments, and while I don't claim that it's Hitchcock, it's certainly a good enough homage.The second thing that makes Halloween great 80's horror is John Carpenter's score. It's still as chilling as it was when the film was first released, and doesn't seem dated by even a day. You can take all the big digital scores produced today on mega-budgets by Oscar-winning music composers, and Carpenter's simple theme on a synthesizer still outperforms them for sheer background atmospheric value. At times, just that camerawork and that score, with not a word being spoken (or just maybe a few lines of a conversation picked up in passing, or on a phone call) and Halloween conveys more menace and mood than a dozen wannabe horror movies.Debra Hill's script, co-written with director Carpenter, is pitch-perfect too. There aren't any corny lines or at least not any unknowingly corny ones--a lot of the characters are kids or bubblegummers after all--and structurally the script is a perfect two-and-a-half act, with the last half carried over to the next film, and the next, and the next, in the long-honoured tradition of 'it ain't over yet, folks' which horror film espouses. The casting is perfect too, with even the most trivial bystander or onlooker, or screaming neighbour just right for that moment. And of course, Jamie Lee Curtis, very young, very blonde, and so endearing in her first major starring role, is a star from frame one. The violence is carefully crafted. There's no attempt to outdo each murder, to splash the gore and shock you out of your popcorn. At the same time, there's careful thought given to the killings, with more is less being the maxim. So while you don't actually see a lot of blood splashing or knives hacking and hacking endlessly, the killings are brutal and sudden and effective as hell. They get more effective by the second film, where some of the murders are worth waiting for, just to see 'how this creep dies' or 'that slut gets her commuppance'. Yup, also in the tradition of teenage horror flicks, Halloween follows the morality line, with each victim doing something unlikable to justify, however remotely, Myers gutting them. Even the Undying Beast, so familiar from countless horror franchises now, seems original and fresh in the first sequel. The fact that they don't try to explain why with corny pseudo-scientific rationale just makes you respect the makers all the more. Like a force of nature, he just goes on, and it's only in the later sequels that that repeated 'fall and rise' of Michael Myers starts to get wearisome. Which is why, unless you want to spend the whole night experiencing the diminishing returns principle, I'd advise you to go straight from Halloween I and II to Halloween H2O. It's set 20 years later, in the year Y2K. Jamie Lee Curtis returns, and so does Michael and the doc. And if you haven't watched the movies in between, it works almost as well as the first pair. In some ways, it's a pretty damn good third entry. If only so many other ripoffs hadn't played all the cards that are there to be played in this particular game of slash poker. In the end, if you really want a night of quiet terror this Halloween season, then I can't recommend anything better than the film that took its name from the season. And lives up to it. Video37503@blogcritics.org Thu, 6 Oct 2005 09:43:32 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/10/04/100939.php Ashok K. BankerWhen I first read about Harlequin starting a fantasy line, I wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or wary. After all, category romances are no longer the most exciting reads. Even the sales figures reflect that fact, with 'big' multi-character novels like The Ya-Ya Sisterhood and crossover genre novels like the romance thrillers of Kay Hooper doing much better business than straight romances in the past decade or so. But there was something about Luna Books that made me hopeful. If it was anything like Harlequin's Mira line, with much stronger characterization, more realistic plots, and multi-cultural backgrounds, it would be worth checking out. But I still wasn't going to buy a Luna Book just to try out the series--it had to be a title that was interesting enough in itself, regardless of the imprint. After all, like most book lovers, I buy books, or maybe authors, not publishing imprints or lines. So it was something of a surprise when I happened upon Urban Shaman by C.E. Murphy. Because I didn't come across it while browsing for a romantic fantasy novel. I happened upon it while checking out the latest titles in a sub-genre of fantasy I've started to grow really, really fond of lately: urban fantasy thrillers. If you know anything about Harry Potter, you know the genre. Urban fantasy covers stories placed in contemporary settings with realistic characters living relatively ordinary, everyday lives. They live among us, and to all intents and purposes, they are us. Except for that one key thing that separates them from the rest of us. That key difference could be that she's a private investigator specializing in esoteric supernatural investigations, as in Laurell K. Hamilton's hugely successful Anita Blake series of novels. (Although, to be accurate, the Anita Blake novels are set in a world significantly different from our's, in that vampires, werewolves, and assorted ghoulish creatures co-exist side by side with us, but they still fit the general bill of urban fantasy.) Or a wizard for hire in mid-town Chicago, like Harry Dresden in The Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher, my absolute favourite ongoing series in the urban fantasy sub-genre. Or the near-future police procedurals by Stephen Woodworth that began with Through Violet Eyes about psychic consultants who can communicate with the dead and aid detectives in solving their murders (the psychics all have violet eyes, hence the title of the first book). Or the Stookie Stackhouse novels by Charlaine Harris. And so many others. (There's a selection of some covers in some of the major series below, if you want to check them out. These are my picks of the best of the genre.)Urban Shaman is an urban fantasy set squarely in this sub-genre. The protagonist is a part-Irish part-Indian garage mechanic who works nominally with the Seattle Police Department (she fixes their cars). She goes by the name of Joanne Walker, but her full birth-name is Siobhan Walkingstick. When the novels opens, she's flying back from a long visit to Ireland, where she was visiting with her mother who has just died of an incurable disease. Jet-lagged, exhausted, eyes weary from wearing her contact lenses for too many hours, Joanne wants nothing more than to get home and crash for a week, after which she intends to roll her tired carcasse to the PD office downtown and allow her supervisor, a curmudgeonly fellow named Morrison who is waiting eagerly for the slightest excuse to fire her minority ass and replace her with a real cop, so he can finally sack her from her job for the unspeakable crime of over-extending her leave by several months. That's when she happens to glance out of the plane, circling in anticipation of a landing slot, and when passing over a suburban street, she sees a woman being chased near an old church by a menacing man and a pack of dogs. Or at least they look like dogs. That's all she has time to see, and then the plane flies past the street and she's left with a cold, sick feeling in her belly. Being who she is, Joanne can't just leave well enough alone. She has to argue with the pilot and crew and get them to give her enough details about their flying speed, height, etc, so she can figure out the location of the street and church where she saw the woman being chased. Upon landing, she has to jump into a cab without even checking out her luggage (brave woman!), and drive around till she locates the spot of the alleged crime.What follows thereafter is a few days of intense, fastpaced thrills, chills, and shocks. Joanne doesn't get much sleep, and her exhaustion becomes an integral part of the story that follows, with her weariness battling the need to solve the mystery of what she saw briefly from the plane window, and then, as things escalate, to stay alive, and finally, to save other lives that are dependent on her by then. It's a knuckle-clenching ride of a story, involving the fabled Celtic Wild Hunt, the 12th night of Christmas, Irish demi-gods and their sons, a girl from an ancient painting who might or might not be living in our world posing as a real person, and Native American shamanic folklore and legends. And don't forget the character named Coyote who is also a man who keeps visiting her everytime she loses consciousness--which is more often than you'd expect--and is apparently working for that mysterious Pie in the Sky (my term, not the author's) that some of us might call God. Urban Shaman is a debut novel and at times, it reads like one. C. E. Murphy takes the sleep-deprived motif and all but beats it to death at times. There are moments--several of them--when you want Joanne to just go crash out on her bed in her lonely apartment and sleep it off. Shades of Al Pacino in the film Insomnia. And there are almost too many descriptions of Joanne's feelings visavis her colleagues in the PD, her boss, the cab driver who unwittingly becomes her closest companion in her unlikely quest, often captured in a style that borders on adolescent angst-ridden confusion. Joanne also fumbles and stumbles and has one too many pratfalls through this book--the scene where she slips on the frozen police station steps and knocks herself out is more Charlie Chaplin than urban fantasy!--generally managing to do everything that's possible to prove she's about ten years younger than the mid-twenties age she's supposed to be. And the florid internal monologues are often painfully close to romance-novel cliches. Although, to give the author credit, they never actually take those predictable turns into romance-novel territory.Murphy overcomes these minor stylistic quirks to produce one heck of a fantasy thriller. The amazing thing is that she makes Joanne Walker's character work brilliantly despite her failings--or perhaps because of them. This is an endearing, eccentric, ethnically confused heroine that you really enjoy spending time with, even when she's exasperating as hell. Murphy's greatest gift is the ability to keep the action coming fast and furious, with something happening on almost every single page. Her sincerity in describing esoteric events and encounters with mythic beings and demi-gods in mundane everyday settings like an airport cafe or an expressway at night makes every unlikely scene totally believable. She has a real gift for describing action sequences, something that I always look for in a novelist and aspire to myself (which, by the way, is a totally shameless plug for those of you who haven't read any of my books!) and makes even these unlikely face offs between Joanne and her supernatural foes nail-bitingly intense and viscerally suspenseful. Urban Shaman is a wholly original debut by a very talented new author who's going to go places very soon. Fresh, unique, and different from every other urban fantasy I've ever read, this exciting supernatural action thriller manages to roll enough wit, emotion, mythology, action set-pieces, suspense, serial murders, mystery, and even a hint of romance (between Joanne and Morrison, which I think is going to develop further in time) into a relatively small, tight bundle of entertainment (well, less than 400 pages at least), making this one of the best goddamn fantasy novels I've read this year. And I've read more than a few, trust me.What's most refreshing is the fact that despite being a Luna Book, Urban Shaman doesn't lay on the romance track thick and heavy. In effect, there is no romance sub-plot here (I'm only speculating about the Joanne-Morrison relationship) while there's plenty of exciting fantasy thrills and chills to be had. The interweaving of the Native American shamanic details with Celtic myth is inspired and brilliantly done. The action sequences are wonderfully written (did I praise her action writing already? Well, it deserves to be praised over and over). And Joanne Walker, or Siobhan Walkingstick, or whatever you care to call her, is a heroine who's going to give Anita Blake, Harry Dresden, and the rest of the urban fantasy clutch a hell of a run for their money.I'm already looking forward to the sequel, Thunderbird Falls, scheduled to be published next summer, and am fervently hoping that this will burgeon into a whole series featuring Joanne Walker and Coyote (and Gary as well, don't forget Gary, whom we shall not call Cooper even though that's the Gary he reminds us of so strongly). There's also a novella featuring Joanne in the collection Winter Moon coming this November. And after this terrifically entertaining debut, I'm willing to check out even C.E. Murphy's other series of action thrillers, written under the pseudonym Cate Dermody and published under the Harlequin Bombshell imprint. She's just too good a writer to miss out on. Books37382@blogcritics.org Tue, 4 Oct 2005 10:09:39 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/10/03/105308.php Ashok K. BankerYou don't have to be Southern to enjoy Southern Gothic. You don't even have to be American. Sitting in the swankiest multiplex in downtown Mumbai, a coffee in your right place-holder and a box of caramel popcorn on your left, you can visit the deep South for an hour and a half. Heck, you can even stay awhile.Skeleton Key doesn't try to do too much, and what it does, it does damn well. That's its greatest strength. It's a little movie with a simple, one-shot idea that it explores from point A to point Z, and then wraps up neatly and effectively, with a shocker in the tail that would do a scorpion in Death Valley proud. There won't be any sequels to this little atmospheric shocker, nor will there be any franchises, and that's almost a relief in this age of over-produced, over-marketed, over-franchised movie-making. Just an hour and a half's entertainment in the dark, and then you get to go home and maybe talk about that ending on the drive home.Dripping wisterias, weeping willows, murky swamps with a layer of mist undulating, an old house on the Louisiana backwaters, with a creaking porch, rocking chair and, of course, an attic with a secret room that even the master skeleton key can't open. Add to it all an old couple, Southern to the bone, eking out the last years of their lives. Enter a young beautiful nurse to care for the old man, a tragic history that nobody wants to talk about, a little hoodoo magic, and you have the makings of a perfect 104-minute supernatural suspense thriller. Not a horror movie, unless you categorized What Lies Beneath as horror, with its quiet, building suspense and thumping shocks. No zombies lurching, no body organs spilling out, no buckets of gore splashing about...just quiet, scary-as-hell Southern Gothic.The story's simple enough: A young attractive nurse Carolyn who works at a hospice caring for the elderly dying during their last days wants something more than just an impersonal job where, after an old person dies, his bed is turned over in twenty minutes to make place for the next warm body and his personal effects are put in a box and dumped in the bin out back. She wants to work with someone who actually cares about the patient. So she takes on a job in the bayou, caring for an old man who's had a stroke recently that has left him completely paralysed. Or so says the old battle horse of a wife who runs her house and her husband in the old 'Southern style', and looks down on an 'outsider' whom she feels 'won't understand our ways, and won't understand the house'. The young New Orleans lawyer, straight out of a John Grisham novel, is persuasive enough to keep the young nurse on the job despite the grumbling old battle axe, and the old lady from getting too pesky, while flirting a bit with the young nurse himself. Her friend in the city worries that she's spending her best years with old dying people and that it's changing her, but young nurse needs to work out her own emotional issues and guilt over not being around when her father died prematurely. 'Nobody should have to die alone' is her reason for sticking it out in the Louisiana swamps, and you admire her for it.Just don't admire her too much, or fall in love with her, because this is Southern Gothic. Where, in the best tradition of Carson McCullers, Greg Iles, and a whole bunch of Mississippi masters, old and new, everything does not always turn out well in the end, someone usually dies--or worse, and the good guys don't win. I won't give away the barb in the tail of this film, in the event you haven't caught it a local multiplex in your town yet. But I will tell you that it involves a terrible secret the house holds close to her wooden breast. A secret involving two African-American servants with the typically turn-of-20-century Southern Gothic names of Papa Justify and Mama Cecile, who were lynched and burned in front of this very house for initiating the two young children of the house into the macabre rituals of hoodoo. (Not to be confused with hoodoo--and if you watch the film, it'll tell you briefly what hoodoo is and how it differs from voodoo.) And it also involves sacrifices--but, as the Gena Rowlands character says in the end, people always take it for granted that sacrifice involves killing someone. And that isn't necessarily true.I guess I could pick holes in Skeleton Key. It's full of cliches--creaking staircases, sagging porches, shadows flitting about an old house, locked doors that clatter incessantly as if something behind them wants out, mist-laden swamps, the gothic staples of storm and thundershowers, a young defenseless (unarmed and naive) female protagonist...basically the whole waterworks. But the said items are neatly arranged, and an genuine attempt is made to infuse originality into each one. Kate Hudson's heroine has spunk and isn't a dumb thriller victim rushing in blindly. She has a head on her shoulders, and her wits about her, and actually has a shot at getting away with her audacious plan in the second half of the movie. The only problem is, as she herself harps throughout, she 'doesn't believe in hoodoo' and she's trying to save the wrong victim. To say anything more, would be to give away the ending, and that's the best part.While all the acting is first-rate, the script is clever and well balanced, the direction expertly handled and with just the right mix of atmospherics and shocks, in my eyes, John Hurt stands out as the most brilliant turn out of all. You'll especially appreciate his performance _after_ you walk out of the theatre, once you know what the secret really is and who he really is, and I can guarantee that as you're turning in for bed that night, you'll be thinking of his haunted eyes, the way he thrashes when he's shown a mirror, and what really haunts him. Hint: It's not the house or even the ghosts within it. Poor guy.For a film that doesn't have a happy ending--just the opposite--and where you could argue that the good guys actually lose in the end, Skeleton Key nevertheless builds a solid suspenseful hour and a half of popcorn entertainment and delivers a whallop of a Southern sting in its last ten minutes that will haunt you more than most fx-riddled horror movies these days. Watch it and have yourself a Happy Halloween ahead of time!Caroline: Kate Hudson Violet: Gena Rowlands Ben: John Hurt Luke: Peter Sarsgaard Jill: Joy Bryant Papa Justify: Ronald McCall Mama Cynthia: Maxine Barnett Hallie: Fahnlohnee Harris Bayou Woman: Marion Zinser Universal presents a film directed by Iain Softley. Written by Ehren Kruger. Running time: 104 minutes. Rated PG (for violence, disturing images, some partial nudity and thematic material). Video37309@blogcritics.org Mon, 3 Oct 2005 10:53:08 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/30/075803.php Ashok K. BankerIndian author Sudhir Kakar's first and best novel, The Ascetic of Desire was based on the life of Vatsyayana, the Indian spiritual guru best known for propounding the treatise known today as the Kamasutra. In fact, the book's full title in its US edition was The Ascetic of Desire: A Novel of the Kama Sutra(Incidentally, this great ancient work, the Kama Sutra is often mistaken to be merely a sex manual; in fact, Kama is a complex Sanskrit word which has many meanings, and only in one sense means 'pleasure'. The Kama Sutra includes lessons on everyday living, health, fitness, and inevitably, the art of love-making which is after all an integral part of our overall lives. It's really a scientific discourse in healthy lifestyles.) In the course of narrating incidents from Vatsyayana's life in that fine debut novel, Kakar used the opportunity to explore the psyche of sexuality. He dealt not just with the life of the great sage, but also with the politics of man-woman relationships, analysed folklore and legends, explored the intellectual and physiognomic basis of sexual attraction and behaviour.In short, he used the story as a means to an end. That end, clearly, was to write a book-length essay on sex and sexuality. He did a wonderful job of it. The Ascetic of Desire was an intellectual delight. It stimulated the mind far more than the gonads. And that's a commendable achievement in an age where stimulating the gonads is the only goal of most writers, film-makers, television channels and advertisers.It was a didactic novel, comparable to the didactic novels of earlier centuries, when the novel was seen as a medium to tell parables, allegories or moral tales. Except that Kakar's intention was not to offer religious insight, but simply to entertain the intellect instead of the imagination.To those who had read Kakar's work before, The Ascetic of Desire came as no surprise. After all, Kakar is a psychoanalyst by profession, one of the most public figures in the field here in India. He has authored several successful non-fiction books, taught at several leading universities in India, Europe and the United States. His books have been translated into several languages around the world.It was only natural that his novel would carry his psychoanalysis a step further: It was almost as if he had placed Vatsyayana on his patient's couch and was rigorously psychoanalysing the man! It was, by and large, successful because sexuality is a complex topic well worth exploring and discussing. And psychoanalysis and sexuality have an inseparable bond, which can be traced back to that father of modern psychiatry, Sigmund Freud.Freud may have been a little too glib for his own good, and extremely passionate, but misguided. Or so the revisionists now feel. But Kakar's exercise was a fascinating one because it enabled us to examine our own Indian history of sexual behaviour and attitudes in the light of modern psychoanalytical practice. It was a great concept, brilliantly executed. An Ascetic of Desire is worth reading.But the same approach doesn't work half as well with Ecstasy. For one thing, the ecstasy in question here isn't sexual, but religious. Because, for his second novel, Kakar leaps several centuries ahead, selecting incidents from the life of the legendary Indian seer and spiritual leader Ramakrishna Paramhansa (1836-1886) as well as the life of Ramakrishna's chosen successor, Swami Vivekananda (1863-1902), which he uses as the basis for Ecstasy.So far so good. Both are great men. Deserving of not one but any number of books discussing and illuminating their religious and spiritual views and thoughts. And a biography of either would be a wonderful idea. A biography of both would be too good to be true. Vivekananda in particular is a true giant of an intellectual and was acknowledged as such worldwide in his time. His famous speech on the 'zero' system of arithmetic and its origin in ancient Vedic India and subsequent use by Middle Eastern cultures, and eventual spread to western worlds (where it was known as the Arabic numeral system) was a landmark.But Ecstasy is not a book-length essay on Ramakrishna and Vivekananda. Nor is it a biography. Nor is it a biographical novel. Starting out with a simple narrative, it tells the story of Gopal. Kakar clearly tells us in his note at the outset that Gopal's story is based on incidents taken from Ramakrishna's life. We see Gopal alias Ramakrishna experiencing his legendary visions, falling into religious trances, experiencing the fever-peak of spiritual enlightenment. Experiencing religious ecstasy, as the title promises.Kakar's prose is lucid and lyrical. He uses just the right language to describe such experiences without lapsing into melodramatic sentimentality or intellectual cynicism. He makes Gopal's experiences seem vivid and intensely believable. He makes us believe that Gopal believes he is experiencing these things. The novel is a short one and, within the first few pages, you are caught up in its simple net of narration, willing to travel through the life and times of this blessed young boy on the path of Godhead.But soon we come across the first speed-breaker. The second section of the novel is titled Vivek and, in it, we jump forward to Gopal's grown-up years. He is now known as Ram Das Baba and considered a paramhansa, the most highly evolved of sadhus. Hence Ramakrishna's given title.The problems begin with this section. Kakar has been telling us a fine story up to this point. The first part of a strong, well-realised, competently imagined childhood. But the minute he introduces Ram Das Baba, the Paramhansa, he instantly lapses into exactly the same religious sentimentalism we were dreading all this while.The young boy Vivek and his friend Kamal's first encounters with Baba read more like extracts from missionary tracts than scenes from a novel. The didactic tone Baba takes, and Vivek's initial scepticism quickly giving way to fanatical admiration, are so weak that we're left feeling manipulated and boxed in.Of course, we realise, these are real events. This is how the young Vivekananda first met and was impressed by the venerable Ramakrishna. These are probably the exact words and thoughts that Ramakrishna spoke. If this was a religious non-fiction book relating the story of Ramakrishna and Vivekananda's lives, this might have been acceptable. After all, Indian writers as accomplished as Iravati Karve have frankly represented portions of great epics anew. K. M. Munshi's Krishnavatara series is a wonderfully re-imagined and recreated version of the life of Krishna; in fact, he freely admits to having used his imagination where facts were not available. I. N. Birla's retelling of tales from Rajasthani folklore vary from the original tales at times, but read even better for these changes. What Kakar himself did in The Ascetic of Desire was ingenious and acceptable. He added layers to the simple life of Vatsyayana. But, in Ecstasy, he seems unable to rise above the source material. Every time he narrates a scene or sequence where Ramakrishna's religious views or Vivekananda's thoughts are expressed, he seems undecided whether to let the lecture take centrestage or maintain the illusion of a fictional narration.Even the great Sanskrit epics of India's Vedic period, The Mahabharata and The Ramayana, two examples of storytelling with deeply religious and didactic passages (the Bhagwad Gita, contained within the Mahabharata being, one could argue, the greatest didactic passage of all), keep the story going relentlessly. The lessons, moral, religious, humane and otherwise, come through in the course of the telling rather than in chunks of expository speech.Sadly, Kakar is unable to emulate any of his predecessors, let alone achieve anything remotely close to the great epics. After that superbly evocative opening, Ecstasy flounders from one lecture to another. Until, finally, by the time you reach the Epilogue and Vishnu Das congratulates Vivek on his decision to become a full-time worker in the Hindu fundamentalist revival group, The RSS, you're inured to speeches like this one:"This is what our country needs. Disciplined and dedicated young men forging a strong nation that does not ape the West. A male nation! No more of that irrational emotionalism which has sapped our energy over centuries. Your father would have been proud of you!"The subsequent paragraphs outlining Vivek's progress in the RSS and the Sangh Parivar's hierarchy read almost like a pastiche of several real-life RSS figures. The final dream of despair he experiences is as thin and cardboard-like as the rest of the novel, unconvincing in its humanity and unfulfilled in its storytelling. You're not quite sure by this point if Kakar is criticising Vivek's decision or simply bemoaning the loss of his mentor and guru, Ramakrishna. Both, probably.Sudhir Kakar the psychoanalyst is a fascinating writer. Sudhir Kakar the novelist is a gifted and readable writer. Even Sudhir Kakar the religious discurser might be worth reading if he were to choose to write such a book. But, in Ecstasy, he can't seem to decide if he is trying to recreate the stories of two great and influential historical figures or using the guise of their stories to dole out huge dollops of religious dogma. In the end, it comes across as a mishmash of both. Which doesn't make for a good novel. If you want to know what Sudhir Kakar is truly capable of, go back and read The Ascetic of Desire instead. Ecstasy doesn't arouse any ecstasy, divine or literary. Books37122@blogcritics.org Fri, 30 Sep 2005 07:58:03 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/30/020722.php Ashok K. BankerKCRW's BOOKWORM "Umberto Eco" "Nicole Krauss" "Bret Easton Ellis" "Identity" (Series of 10)This is where the big guns of literature come out to bat. Or to talk. KCRW'S Bookworm is a major literary podcast show. It features serious, detailed discussions on literary matters, featuring big-name authors. One of their longest, most fascinating series was the recent 10-part series on Identity. Each episode of slightly less than 30 minutes focussed on one aspect of Identity. Hispanic identity, Asian identity, mixed-race identity, and similar aspects of the complex search for an unique 'face' in a world of rapidly blurring differences. Authors featured ranged from relative unknowns like Maxine Hong Kingston, Don Lee, Nina Marie Martinez, to heavy hitters like Camille Paglia, Alan Hollinghurst, Margaret Atwood, and the current Booker shortlisted John Banville...The discussions are always interesting, 'provocative book-talk' to quote their own tag line, and well worth the listening. THE RADIO ADVENTURES OF DR. FLOYDThis one's a bit more of an acquired taste. I wouldn't recommend it for everyone, and at times, if I'm not in the mood, even I press 'next' on my iPod, or remote, to bypass the latest episode. But if you're in the mood for some light, chatty, even whacky talk about Science Fiction, often without any definite point, then this pod show is reasonably good TP. If you're not interested in SF, though, you're not going to like it, so I'd only recommend it for true beanies.THE SECRETS: THE PODCAST FOR WRITERSLike Dr. Floyd above, but less irritating in tone and style, The Secrets is a series of under-15 minute episodes offering advice on various aspects of the writing craft. It's a great series if you're a wannabe writer, and especially if you're a blogger. (Which, I'm starting to think, should now be accepted as a legit professional appelation. As in, 'Hi, I'm Tim, the architect, so what do you do?' 'Oh, I'm a blogger.') Anyway, despite it's suggestive title, there are really no earth-shattering secrets revealed on this show. But it's always informative and entertaining. And again, there's usually a tidbit or two of special interest for writers (or editors, or publishers, or even just readers) of SFFH. In fact, one of their feature podcasts is a special focus on SF/Fantasy news.THE WEEK IN WHEDONThis is one I'm constantly reminding myself to unsubscribe from soon. But somehow, I never get around to actually doing it, and so it remains on my Podcasts Playlist, and each week I go, 'Hmm, should unsubscribe from this one...' And so it goes. For those of you who aren't hard-core Buffy/Angel/Firefly fans, well, Joss Whedon is best known as the writer-creator of the TV shows Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Angel and the short-lived Firefly. He's also a highly paid screenwriter for blockbuster movies as well. (Look up his IMDB page for more info if you're interested.) This pod show is a series of weekly updates on what's happening in Whedon's world, including his upcoming shows, scripts in production, syndication of older shows, etc. I subscribed to find out if there was any truth to the rumour that he was going to start a spin-off show called Tales of The Watcher featuring characters from both his Buffy and Angel series. (Apparently not.) Or how close he was to the long-awaited Buffy movie starring Sarah Michelle Gellar. (Nowhere in sight.) Or whether it was true that his short-lived but highly popular SF show Firefly was being made into a big-screen movie. (Yes, but still unsure of whether production is underway or only 'green-lighted'.) The trouble with the show is that it rambles on in such detail about such trivial things that only a hardcore Whedon fan would be interested. It's definitely not for you if, like me, you're just a fan of his shows and not into hero-worship. And worst of all, Whedon himself barely figures in the shows - this is almost entirely a fan enterprise. But if you're a true Whedonite, or even just a Buffyite (Buffite?), then you may find this time-pass-worthy.Well, that's all I have in my Pod right now. But I'm sure to get bored of some of these soon and go trolling the Podosphere for new stuff. And when I find something worth blogging about, you'll find it right here at Blogcritics. Meanwhile, you've got plenty of good listening to check out, if you liked even a few of my recommendations. Just remember, file-sharing is caring! So if you hear of a show you like too, just plug it in the comments links below. (Concluded...for now) edited:ME Music37118@blogcritics.org Fri, 30 Sep 2005 02:07:22 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2005/09/27/061140.php Ashok K. BankerSo I finally got around to discovering the big bad world of Podcasting. And I got hooked in a hurry. Now, I can't claim to know everything that's being podcast out there. It's a big Netiverse after all. (And an even bigger Nutiverse, if you know what I mean.)A lot of the podcasts seem to be news feeds from major as well as minor news channels in the US, something that doesn't remotely interest those of us whose lives don't revolve around the US of A. The last thing I want to do while driving to the gym, or taking my afternoon tea break, is listen to the destruction wrought by Hurricane Katrina, or Hurricane Rita. Because we get all that on prime time news TV, radio and in the newspapers anyway. Newswise, we're covered, thanks to satellite TV and India's excellent news media.Nor am I really interested in the scores of amateur writers eagerly (over-eagerly) offering their unpublished novels converted into podcasts. But what I found after a bit of trial and error and searching and downloading a lot of junk, was that there is some really good stuff being podcast too.Especially in the area of interviews and fact-based programming. Here are some of my currently favourite Podcast shows and the episodes I really enjoyed listening to. I can't claim they'll appeal to everyone equally, but then again, that's not really the point, is it? Each to his or her own, and that's the beauty of podcasting!I'm not going to comment much on each one, since they're mostly quite self-explanatory. But basically, the Podcasts I've picked all have good audio quality, pro level or near-pro level, are well produced, have intelligent insightful content, and are way better than if the same material were to be available in printed or html/xml form.The reason being is that these are mostly interviews, or shows by talented audio artists. And just as it is possible to read an interview, listening to it has a whole different charm. For instance, Maya Angelou, the veteran African-American writer, has a style that's wonderful to read, but actually listening to her speak is a whole different experience. I think you know what I mean.So that's why most of my Current Fave Podcast choices are interviews or personality based stuff. I'm always looking for new stuff though. So if you hear a Podcast, or hear of one, do let me know. After all, the internet's motto is, or should be, (File-)Sharing is Caring!A WAY WITH WORDS Food 2 Theater Lexicography Surfing DictionariesThis is a show about language, as the name suggests. Each episode is fairly long, a bit less than 50 minutes, which is a bit of a downside. But they pack a lot of learning into that time. Each episode focusses on a different subject. The episodes I've heard so far are listed above. The one on surfing is particularly entertaining, but maybe because I just love that surfing lingo. It's where we get most of our popular slang today - 'dude', 'chill', 'hang loose', etc. A great way to improve your language skills and learn a lot about the idiosyncracies of the English language.BOOKBUFFET.COM Interview with Julian Fellowes (9 parts) Interview with Jack El-Hai (7 parts) Interview with Kem Nunn Interview with Tracy Quan (7 parts) Interview with Sheila Hayman Interview with Arthur Jeon Interview with Edith GrossmanThese are excellent interviews with authors. At first, I wondered if I really wanted to listen to an author I'd never heard of before (most of the above), let alone actually read anything by. But once I started listening, I was hooked. Well, not addicted maybe. But you see, the thing about Bookbuffet podcasts is that they're really short. Each one is no more than 5 minutes, often as short as 1 or 2 minutes. (Hence the several parts of each interview.) So they're really just nuggets of wisdom or insight and I don't mind spending a couple of minutes with a bunch of different writers and picking up something from it. But if you're not interested in the craft of writing or a serious student of literature, then perhaps even 1 minute might be a minute too long!DRAGON PAGE COVER TO COVER #181: Interview with Karl Schroeder and Bruce Taylor #180: Interview with Jennifer Fallon and Marie Jackober #169: Interview with Kevin J. Anderson and Gerard Readett Interviews with authors and editors of science fiction and fantasy. I've just got these three issues, but there are plenty more out there. These are much, much longer than the Bookbuffet interviews, but they're also much more fun. At least, they were to me, a hardcore SFFH fan. If you enjoy reading the works of these authors, or even the genre in general, you'll probably find something to like in these chatty, insightful, but always entertaining and light interviews.FUNNYINDIAN The Brian & Joe Show Second City On Clubbing The Podcaste SystemHere's a complete change of pace. Cincinnati, Ohio, USA-based stand-up comedian Rajiv Talwar is an ABCD with a sense of humour. (That's American Born Confused Desi, to you non-Indians out there!) Anyone can enjoy his routine, and with each podcast running to anywhere from 12 to 18 minutes, it's a nice way to spend a short drive, or a long coffee break. What I like about Talwar is that his jokes are geared to Indian ears, like the first episode where he plays on the word 'Podcast/e' with and without the 'e'. Get it? Get it.GAMECAST ONLINE: A GAMING GUIDE For some reason, I have this fascination with tech stuff, especially the software side of IT. And though I'm not actually a gamer myself, my kids are majorly into it. So I enjoy reading through magazines like PS2 Gaming and passing on articles of interest to them. These 'casts are pretty okay if you want to keep up with your gaming news and know what's worth trying out--and what's not.HORROR READER An interview with David Morrell A Different Kind of Horror: Interview with Elizabeth MassieThis is one of my favourites. I adore reading interviews with writers of SFFH. (That's Science Fiction Fantasy and Horror, by the way.) I've got virtually every book of interviews with SFFH writers, and have read each one to bits. Maybe it's because I'm an SFFH writer too, and it was my lifelong dream to become one, so I hang on every word, hoping to pick up something, or just getting strength and inspiration from knowing there are people out there who are actually making a successful living telling stories about fantastic things and creatures. (I guess I now make a fairly successful living doing much the same thing, but learning is an eternal process, isn't it?) Horror Reader has a lot of episodes out there, each one about half an hour long. (As far as I'm concerned, they could be two hours long, and I'd still listen.) I'd recommend these two strongly: David Morrell is a very entertaining author of thrillers (Burnt Sienna, one of his most recent, I liked very much) as well as supernatural horror novels and espionage thrillers. He's also the guy who created Rambo (but the book is way, way better, trust me). Here he speaks on the eve of the release of his new horror novel, his first in a long time, Creepers. Morrell is a fascinating personality because while his popular million-copy bestsellers are so pulpy, he himself is a professor of Literature, highly regarded in his field! Elizabeth Massie, on the other hand, is a much lesser-known horror writer but she's very talented. Read her Sineater, if you haven't read her already. And the interview is interesting because it offers a flip side to Morrell's bigbucks career success, with Massie talking about the joys and bittersweetness of being published by independent (small) publishers and writing horror at a time when everybody believes the genre is dead and gone.(...to be concluded.) Sci/Tech36886@blogcritics.org Tue, 27 Sep 2005 06:11:40 EDT