Book: The Crane Wife

(Image from the C/W Mars Catalog)

 

The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness is an unusual take on a Japanese folktale.  The most unusual part of it is how little resemblance it bears to the “original” story, but still manages to be a clear reinterpretation of it.  To a certain degree, that is of course to be expected, since it is not like folktales usually give enough information to fill a whole novel.  In this case, as with most variations of the story, the most important aspect is the fact that the man, in Ness’s version, George, cannot see the crane, Kumiko, as she creates her art, because then she will be forced to leave.  But everything else about the story has no connection whatsoever to the folktale, e.g. it is set in modern day London, rather than Japan, and the art that Kumiko creates from her feathers is not fabric of any kind, but figures on tiles that are not complete without contributions from George.

Of course, the novelization of any folktale or fairytale usually gives it more depth, because it gives the story more space to explore its message, but Ness’s interpretation really gives the traditional tale a whole new dimension and message, by adding that one little twist to the story: the crane’s work is not complete without contributions from the husband.  In all of the folktale versions of “The Crane Wife” that I have read, the woman weaves an almost magical fabric from her feathers, which she presents to her husband upon completion, to be sold in order to make money for the household.  In those stories, the fabric is a gift from the crane that is created explicitly for the benefit of the man.  In Ness’s version, Kumiko’s artwork is something that she originally started creating just for herself, to be able to tell her personal story.  She had initially intended to sell some of her tiles to help support herself, but her primary body of work, the thirty-two tiles of her story, were not really meant to be seen by anyone, let alone sold for profit.  However, as soon as she saw George’s paper cuttings and began adding them to her tiles, Kumiko’s artwork took on a whole new life and purpose that could not have been achieved without George’s contributions.  In this manner, their artwork becomes an analogy for relationships in general, in that each person is special on their own, but it is only in the juxtaposition and combination of two lives working together as one that something truly magnificent and meaningful can be created.   Whereas the traditional folktale can be seen as being about the trust that needs to exist between husband and wife, with the husband keeping his word about not looking on his wife as she works, Ness’s novel takes the story beyond that basic level of trust necessary in any such romantic relationship.  He expands it to finding an appreciation for the beauty that can only be achieved when two people live and work together in loving, trusting, harmony. 

     **SPOILER ALERT: reading farther may spoil the book**

The other really interesting and unusual thing about Ness’s approach to the novelization of this folktale, is the way that he chose to write it in terms of setting and tone.  He did not give it an ancient, magical setting, nor did he quite fully give it a gritty, realistic, modern setting.  In the beginning I thought he was going for a timeless, indistinct setting, but once it became clear that it was modern London, I thought he was going to take the “magic realism” approach, where it would never become clear if Kumiko was actually the crane and Rachel was the spirit of the volcano.  For much of the book, I liked his unclear approach to the events, with the imagery being so vivid but no real explanations given as to whether what George experienced with the crane in his backyard and what he saw in Kumiko’s apartment were real or not.  But I was surprised when at the climax of the story, it all became painfully clear that yes, these were magical beings that George had encountered, who had been playing out their cosmic story on the grandest scale of time.  It was a little disappointing to me, because I am rereading The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey with one of my book clubs, and I have been thinking a lot about how much I love the use of magic realism as a way of reinterpreting folktales and fairytales.  I think that magic realism as a genre is the best way to breathe new life into traditional stories that have somewhat lost their meaning over time, so I was a little upset when Ness chose not to stay on that path, when so much of the story seemed to be heading in that direction. 

Overall, The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness is a complex reimagining of a traditional Japanese folktale.  I have not actually even begun to touch upon some of the truly imaginative ways that Ness was able to expand upon whatever version of “The Crane Wife” that he grew up with.  But if you take his expanded story and reduce it again to its simplest folktale form, I am truly impressed by the new meaning that Ness was able to bring to the story by changing one small detail about the work of art that he put at the center of the story.  And even if I do not agree with all of the choices that Ness made as a writer in presenting his story, it is certainly a book that anyone who enjoys folktales or fairytales should read.

 

Ness, P. (2013). The Crane Wife. New York; Penguin Press.

Book: The Night Circus

(Image from C/W Mars catalog)

 

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern is, at its heart, about a battle between chaos and control (pg.378).  That is the driving force behind the challenge that two magicians, Hector and Alexander, establish and in which they force Celia and Marco, their protégés, to participate.  It is an interesting basis for a story because it takes what would otherwise be a straightforward story about a magical circus to an almost cosmic level.  It is disappointing then that Morgenstern does not give that aspect of the story the attention and importance it deserves. 

Hector and Alexander remind me of fairy tale fathers, like in Rumpelstiltskin or Beauty and the Beast, who gamble with their daughters’ lives rather than their own.  Each man has a different approach to the use and teaching of magic but rather than battling each other to the death to see which method is stronger, they force their students to unknowingly do it for them.  There have been multiple battles over the years in different venues around the world, and the one that they start between Celia and Marco is just one more for them to add to their growing tally.  The egotism displayed by Hector and Alexander is astounding because there is no reason given as to why they feel the need to prove one method better than the other or when they will no longer feel the need to senselessly sacrifice others for their own vanity.  They are god-like in their abilities, near immortality, and lack of concern for the lives of others.  It is reminiscent of Artemis and Aphrodite in the Greek tragedy Hippolytus where a whole family gets torn apart because they get caught between the goddesses in their fight for recognition. 

That is where I think there is a particular lack of world-building in The Night Circus.  I picked up this book on the recommendation of a colleague who suggested that it might fit into the genre of magic realism, which came up when we were discussing The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey.  However, I would argue that there is too much explicit magic in the story to really let it pass as magic realism.  As a piece of fantasy fiction I think the story could have benefitted from a bit more context of exactly what magic means in  the world, and why we should care about these battles that take place.  The majority of people in the world of the story have no idea that magic is real and Morgenstern never even toys with the idea of what might happen if large numbers of people figured it out.  There is no talk of needing to keep it secret, no discussion of what makes someone able to perform magic, and no mention of magic’s role in the universe beyond its potential entertainment value.  There also is not much hinted at about why this story, this battle, is so different, other than outcome.  But the outcome does not seem to have much of an effect on anything beyond keeping the circus alive. 

Of course, I am fully aware that I am highly biased toward cosmologies and creation myths and have a tendency to find stories that do not have cosmic consequences a little pointless and dull.  This story was not dull, I could hardly put the book down, but what was driving it for me was mostly the need to find out how Celia and Marco got around the fatal rules of the game they did not know they were playing for much of time.  I had formulated a theory before even beginning the book, based on the summary on the inside cover flap, and I needed to see how my idea compared to what the author came up with.  Still, I found that it was difficult to care about the characters because I did not understand what makes their story so special.  There was so much potential for this story to be a deeply imaginative take on the world, but instead it just presented the story without much explanation of the important pieces. 

The final chapter tries to give the story more gravitas, talking about how stories and tales are their own kind of magic (pg. 381), which I agree with of course, but it feels very out of place in this particular book because that is not really how the story has been presented this whole time.  Usually in the books that I have read that talk about storytelling, it also talks about how storytelling is used to make something or someone significant (The Last Storyteller by Frank Delaney or The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd comes to mind).  But if that is what Morgenstern was trying to do with this story, I do not think it worked particularly well.  Celia and Marco’s love story was too disjointed and rushed to be of any significance and the circus itself lacks a substantial purpose beyond basic entertainment.  On the whole, while The Night Circus was an enjoyable story with the potential to be a modern fairy tale, the disjointed manner in which it was told and the hints at deeper meaning that were never more fully explored did it a disservice.

 

Morgenstern, E. (2011). The Night Circus. New York: Doubleday.

Book : The Wolf Gift

(image from C/W Mars catalog)

The Wolf Gift by Anne Rice sadly does not go into much detail of the werewolf myth as Rice has reimagined it.  Much of the story is bogged down in the gruesome fumbling of the main character, Rueben, as he learns to adapt to his new powers as a werewolf without the help of anyone else in the know.  However, toward the very end of the story, the very first of the morphenkinder (what werewolves refer to themselves as in the story), is introduced and tells part of his back story.  I really like the way that Rice has reimagined werewolves, I just wish that she had given more back story in this first book.

The most surprising thing about these werewolves is the fact that they are not a hybrid between a human and a wolf.  Instead, they are a mutation from an imaginary prehistoric race of ape like creatures that were eventually wiped out by homo sapiens.  This prehistoric race already had the ability to change into a more canine-like creature when they became enraged, which they claimed was a gift from the gods.  Margon, the first of the werewolves as we know them, was a homo sapien that had been exiled by his own people and came to live among this race and eventually received the gift himself by receiving multiple bites over a long period of time and a strange twist of fate.  No reason is given as to why the beastly form that these creatures could take was so wolf-like, but it was not a form they could change into at will; the change only came when they worked themselves into a frenzy when faced with an enemy.

The primary reason that the prehistoric race would need to whip themselves into a frenzy is because they could smell “evil,” which always warned them of the approach of those who would do them harm.  That is one trait that was passed on to the modern werewolves, along with the ability to acutely hear the voices of the innocent crying out in need of help.  As the characters in the book discuss, that raises many moral and philosophical questions about what it means to be “evil” and what duty the werewolves have to help those that they can hear. 

Overall, Rice’s approach to werewolves is grounded in the theory of evolution and she has addressed some of the issues that the immortal werewolves face from modern science.  For as scientific as the origin myth is, however, it still has many mystical elements that make sense and help keep everything interesting.  In comparison to every other werewolf story I know, which is admittedly not many, this is the most complete origin myth I have seen.  I am still puzzled though about the lack of connection with actual wolves.  Most werewolf stories have something to do with a mutation from wolves or involve wearing wolf skins, such as in Norse mythology, usually because of a desire to attain some of the aspects of wolves, such as their strength and ferocity.  Here in Rice’s world, the wolf connection is extremely minor and almost nonexistent, despite it still being called the “wolf gift.”

Since so little information is really given about the morphenkinder in general in this book, I will most likely have to read the second book in the series, The Wolves of Midwinter (2013), in order learn more about the werewolf mythology as Anne Rice has developed it. 

Rice, A. (2012). The Wolf Gift. New York: Random House.

Book : The Golem and the Jinni



(Image from C/W Mars catalog)

The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker does not actually focus on the mythological aspects of golems and jinn.  It is the story of two unlikely friends, Chava, a female golem made out of clay, and Ahmad, a jinni from the deserts of Syria.  Both characters are brought to New York City, somewhat against their wills, at the turn of the twentieth century, where they must learn to blend in and find their own path in life.  Along the way they meet many other people in their separate cultural communities and come to find that their lives are more entwined than they ever could have imagined.

Instead of being characteristics that sharply define the main characters and help drive the action, the supernatural aspects of their beings are treated more like any other type of backstory that an immigrant to New York City would have.  There is little discussion of other golems or jinn and what happened to them, and there are no other supernatural creatures mentioned or encountered at all.  When I first decided to read this book, I had been hoping that there would be an underground society of supernatural beings in New York City that would help bring these two unlikely friends together, but there is really no talk of what other supernatural creatures might be out there if golems and jinn can exist.

The fact that Chava is a golem and Ahmad is a jinni is not the focal point of the story but the primary vehicle through which the author can inject social commentary into the story, especially about gender, religion, and societal expectations.  Because Chava and Ahmad are not human but are expected to act like them, they must learn about society and thus the audience gets to view our strange human customs through the eyes of characters not born and raised into them.  Chava learns a lot about Jewish culture and customs as one would expect from a golem, which comes from Jewish mythology, while Ahmad compares what he remembers about Bedouin culture in the deserts to the Syrian immigrants he meets in the new city.  This adds a layer of interest to the story to help make up for the lack of world-building on the supernatural side of things.

Overall, it is interesting to see a story where the supernatural does not matter much.  It helps to inform some of the action, of course, and is necessary to the final resolution, but for the most part, the fact that Chava and Ahmad are mythical creatures does not make much of a difference in the story.  It is a very modern perspective to categorize such characteristics as just another minor difference such as race or gender that should not interfere with recognizing free will and the capacity for love and affection.  I was a bit disappointed in how little discussion there is of the mythology behind golems and jinn, but I think that this story is a good example of how such characters can be adapted to modern morals and perspectives.  It continues the tradition of adapting stories to current needs in order to keep the myths alive.

Wecker, H. (2013). The Golem and the Jinni. New York: Harper.

Book : The Last Storyteller

(Image from C/W Mars Catalog)

The Last Storyteller : a Novel of Ireland by Frank Delaney is a perfect example of how excellent storytelling can make terrible characters, meaning that they are not particularly nice or sympathetic people, interesting and worthy of reading about. 

     **SPOILER ALERT: reading farther may spoil the book**

This book is the conclusion to the Ben McCarthy Trilogy, following Delaney’s other books, Venetia Kelly’s Traveling Show (2010) and The Matchmaker of Kenmare (2011).  Admittedly, I almost decided to not read this book since I did not particularly like the first two.  I think that the love story of Ben McCarthy and Venetia Kelly is just a little too weird for me, what with them meeting because Ben’s father abandoned his wife and their family farm to follow Venetia and her traveling show around like a lovesick puppy, Ben and Venetia getting married when Ben was eighteen and Venetia was thirty-two, and then Venetia being kidnapped by her own father and loosing all contact with Ben for twenty-five years because they were both too stupid and immature to do anything about it for twenty-five years!  In The Last Storyteller in particular I started to get very sick of how stupid and ridiculous both characters were being, to the point where I was almost disappointed at how neatly and happily their love story ended. 

Fortunately, Delaney’s writing is so beautiful and powerful, especially during the many legends and lore that are told by various characters throughout the book, that this is still a worthwhile book to read.  The first two books are not particularly interesting beyond perhaps some commentary of the political atmosphere at the time in Ireland, but The Last Storyteller has much to offer in terms of lessons about love, life, and the importance of the art of storytelling.  This volume really chronicles the transformation of Ben McCarthy into a traditional, itinerant storyteller and as such touches upon a wide variety of tales to showcase various pieces of the Irish spirit and human nature on a broader scale.

While I would argue that Delaney’s first novel, Ireland (which I spoke of in an earlier post), does a better job of really encompassing all of Ireland’s history in its stories, this book contains a better master class in the art of storytelling with a better example of how everyone can apply storytelling to their own life.  One piece of advice that is repeated throughout the trilogy but is featured at the end of this book is the idea that “One day you have to tell the story of your own life… and perceive it as myth.  When you can do that – that’s when you’ve finally grown up” (p. 365).  Delaney’s own mastery of storytelling really shows through when he is able to finally take this character through his own story, thereby displaying how even a non-heroic person can still be the hero of their own tale and how being able to approach life through the lens of a storyteller can give a very different perspective to both wonderful and troubling events.

On the whole, this book is similar in focus to Delaney’s first novel, Ireland, with its focus being on the art of storytelling and its importance to history and culture.  However, whereas Ireland featured storytelling for its ability to capture and convey the history and spirit of an entire nation, The Last Storyteller features the ways that storytelling can heal on a much more personal level.  It is also a really great example of a story about not-so-likable characters that is told in such a way that you cannot help but like the book anyway. 

Delaney, F. (2012). The Last Storyteller : a Novel of Ireland. New York: Random House. 

Book: Terminal Freeze

(Image from C/W Mars catalog)

Terminal Freeze by Lincoln Child is a very good novel that is actually a little difficult to talk about without giving too much away.  Set in Alaska’s Federal Wildlife Zone, it follows a team of scientists on an expedition to study the effects of global warming as well as gather information about the ancient ecosystem of the area.  One day while gathering samples, the team discovers a creature in the ice that challenges their scientific knowledge and wreaks destruction upon the entire expedition.  Although it has all of the elements of science fiction, and would actually be a fantastic basis for a movie, the story does not get weighed down in the science but instead is mostly suspenseful, with a slow development of the plot that keeps interest up throughout the whole book.

     **SPOILER ALERT: reading farther may spoil the book**

My favorite part of the book has to be the monster and the fact that there is no clear answer as to exactly what it is or where it comes from.  The descriptions of it start off as very vague but even as they get more detailed, it is still difficult to picture exactly what it looks like because it is a creature so ancient and outside our realm of understanding, whether you take the scientific or the spiritual view of its origins.  But like every good monster, it is based in some reality, and at its most basic, I pictured the creature as being an extra large version of one of my best friends’ cats, which is black and part Maine coon with large, bright yellow eyes (see picture below).  And just because it is never explained what the creature is, it does not mean that it cannot be killed, although in no ordinary way.

My friend's cat, Cash. This is what I imagine the monster to at least partially look like.

That is one of the great things about this story; even though it raises many questions, especially about what the creature is and where it came from, those questions do not impede the progress of the plot, so the story still feels complete and has a satisfactory ending, even though those questions are never answered.  When the creature’s body mysteriously disappears before they can examine it, along with the other problems such as the storm and the blood red Northern Lights, it is clear that the problem of the creature has been resolved for now, even if none of the scientists can satisfactorily explain what happened or how to prevent another such incident from happening again in the future.  There is a scientific explanation, a spiritual explanation from the local Tunit tribe, as well as a more outlandish explanation given at the end by the three main characters who survive, but there is little discussion or evidence to support one story over the others.  I really like that about the story because sometimes having all of the answers and having everything neatly categorized and explained takes the fun and thrill out of the story.  It is highly reminiscent of The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey, even though Terminal Freeze is more science fiction than magical realism. 

On the whole, Terminal Freeze works so well as a novel because it focuses on telling the story of what happens to this scientific expedition once the creature is released, rather than trying to contextualize and explain away everything that happens.  There is a perfect mix of science, suspense, and action that allows for the story to move along without getting bogged down in the debate of science versus religion.  The story is also written in such a way, that it really keeps the reader involved and engrossed in the story.  Even the open-endedness of the story lets the reader decide for himself or herself, if they so choose, how to interpret what the creature is and what really happened.  It is an excellent example of writing that walks the line between science fiction, mythology, and suspense in a way that works only to keep the reader interested rather than lost in any one genre.

Child, Lincoln. (2009) Terminal Freeze: A Novel. New York: Doubleday.

Movie: Jack the Giant Slayer (2013)

(Image from IMDb)

Jack the Giant Slayer (2013) is an awesome movie adaption of a classic folktale!  If I sound rather enthusiastic about that, it is because before watching it, I honestly did not think it was going to be any good.  There have been many movie adaptations of fairytales and folktales lately and most of them are not very good, (e.g. Mirror Mirror, Snow White and the Huntsman), so I was cautious about this movie.  The emphasis in the previews on the CGI and battle sequences did not help anything, because they made the movie look like it was going to be just another stupid summer blockbuster type war movie with giants as the opponents this time.  Even having Ewan McGregor (one of my favorite actors) and Nicholas Hoult (some one I like just a little bit more after almost every movie I see him in) as the stars did not make me overly enthusiastic about it because the previews genuinely made it look so mindless and trite.  But right from the very beginning I was actually quite impressed with the story and enjoyed the large majority of the film.

**SPOILER ALERT: reading farther may spoil the movie**

The opening sequence was a masterful introduction to the story and I love how they drew upon many different elements from other traditions and stories to really ground the movie as part of a plausible legend.  By calling the kingdom part of Albion, it instantaneously places it within England, which is where the tradition of “Jack tales” comes from, while leaving it as part of the more mythical history of England.  The presence of the monks also helps it blend into the almost Arthurian, medieval tradition of English folktales.  The fact that the monks were trying to find a way to climb up to God’s kingdom, and thus developed the magic beans that could grow beanstalks tall enough to reach heaven, is a classic trope that can be found in mythologies from around the world.  Even the way these facts were presented in the movie, being part of a folktale told to Jack and Isabelle as children, helped make it a solid foundation for everything else that happened in the rest of the movie.  There really was not anything that happened in the movie that did not make sense because the world was so well established in the opening sequence.

As for how the plot of the movie was developed, I really liked how Jack and Isabelle were paralleled so closely, making it clear that they were perfect for each other from the very beginning.  It was obviously highly reminiscent of Aladdin and Jasmine from Disney’s cartoon film Aladdin (1992), but it did not feel trite and silly; it was cute and worked to set them up as equals in spirit. 

However, I do take minor offence at the way they made Jack and Isabelle equal in reality by having Jack step up as king of the giants.  It is a very minor issue because I understand and appreciate that they wanted to show that Jack and Isabelle were equal in every way by the time they were married, but I think they missed a huge opportunity to complete Isabelle’s storyline of proving that she was ready and capable to assume the throne.  By the time Jack ultimately defeats General Fallon, the two-headed giant, he had already proven his worth as a nobleman and king’s guardsman, as Elmont recognized by giving Jack the coat of arms off his armor.  Taking that final step and putting on the crown of the king of the giants was unnecessary to Jack’s character development.  Instead, it would have been wonderful to see Isabelle step forward and assume the responsibility of king of the giants, thus fulfilling her role as King Erik’s heir and proving to her father that she is ready to be queen without having to be married first.  As I said before, though, it is only a minor issue because I appreciate that they did give Isabelle a much more active role than usual for a princess in a fairytale and they were trying to stick to the traditional storyline of the common boy needing to prove his worthiness in order to marry the princess.

The crowning achievement (pun intended) of the movie has to be the ending.  As much as I loved the opening for establishing the plot of the film as part of a legendary tradition, the ending really brought everything together in the best way possible.  Not only to bring it full circle by having Jack and Isabelle tell the story to their children, in a mirror of the opening, but to carry it further throughout the years, with all of the different voices overlapping and changing little details until it sounds much more like the traditional story of Jack and the Beanstalk that is so well known today.  Overlaying that auditory transition through time with the images of the crown changing hands and being refashioned over the years into the current crown jewels really ties everything together, but the addition of the young boy who bears a resemblance to the evil Roderick leaves it slightly open to a future, modern day sequel/retelling.  In fact, my mind immediately jumped to a crossover AU with the BBC series Sherlock, since the young boy also bears a resemblance to the show’s Moriarty, who steals the crown jewels in the third episode of the second season. 

Overall, I was very surprised by how much I enjoyed the movie and how successful it is as a retelling of such a classic and beloved folktale.  It has a great mix of action and plot, making it enjoyable as a stand-alone movie, but also fits in very well to the larger tradition of Jack tales that have been growing and evolving over the years.