My first impressions of Disney’s Frozen were positive, although not glowing. While it didn’t leave me with the same dreamy wonder of Beauty and the Beast, or even the madcap zip of Tangled, I enjoyed its premise and the ingenuitive way that it placed more importance on the relationship between two sisters than on romantic subplots. While it wasn’t my favorite Disney movie, something about Frozen crept its way into my heart and stayed there. Now almost two months after its premiere, the film is still on my mind, and I think I’m beginning to understand the reasons why. Continue reading
I was recently challenged to write down my Top Ten Favorite Songs Ever by a friend. “I can’t!” I whined, “the computer with all my music is broken so I don’t think I’ll remember all the songs I want to!” To which the perfectly reasonable response was “Good, if you don’t remember them, then they can’t count as your favorites.”
That Draconian philosophy aside, here is my Top Ten List of Favorite Songs Ever Probably, in no particular order because that shit is madness: Continue reading
I tried to write about what happened in Boston and I can’t. It feels appropriative to do so, when I’ve never been to Boston and I know only a few people who live there. So instead, I’ll just say that I’m hoping that they apprehend who is responsible as soon as they can, and that everyone affected by this tragedy finds comfort, and move on to a subject I do know: what I hate about some modern literature.
There are about eight billion “rules” about writing different perspectives, and I tend to think that all of them can be successfully thrown out the window. If you don’t know the difference between third person and first person point of view (POV), here is a handy link that describes the difference (I’m not going to do it; ain’t nobody got time for that). For the most part, I’ll roll with any POV if the story’s interesting enough. However, there is a popular character in first person narration that drives me up the freaking wall. I’m sure you’ve read this book before, but I’ll describe it:
The narrator is female. Coming of age, or only just out of teens. She’s quiet and intelligent, but socially awkward with her peers because she’s not sure exactly what to say all the time. She doesn’t like parties and she doesn’t drink or have boyfriends, generally. She doesn’t think she’s pretty. She dislikes the “in crowd”, regardless if they’re cheerleaders or bolder young women in her acquaintance. She likes school, but she’s pretty average – but she’s WAY smarter than most of the other young adults, she tells us. She says her life is pretty boring, actually… until [insert big life-changing event] happens.
What book did I just describe? Could be a few, right? Twilight? 50 Shades of Gray? A Discovery of Witches? A(ny) Cassandra Clare novel? A(ny) current Young Adult novel geared toward young women, actually, with the exception of a precious few?
Readers. Readers. How do we keep reading this shit? That description above isn’t a character; it’s a pastel self-insert with all the qualities women sans self-esteem wish they would possess: shyness, virtue, and a razor-sharp judgment of any woman who actually has the balls to enjoy life. Oh, and while this character is super “average”, she assures us, there are always a few suitors fresh off restraining orders from their ex-girlfriends waiting in the wings. Because that [insert big life-changing event] I referenced? It’s nearly always a guy. Which is fine if I pick up a romance novel, but this is EVERY GENRE. Sci fi! Dystopia! Historical lit! I’m pretty sure that if I picked up a freaking cookbook in Barnes and Noble it’d have a demon flashing me his pecs on the cover with the tagline “Jeanie Smith had a normal life… until she ate his crème brûlée”.
And up until recently, this character happened every few books, but now? I pick up a YA book and if I see first person female POV, I put that book back on the shelf. Because that first person is more likely than not that self-involved, twatty little idiot who can’t survive for five seconds without having someone save the day.
Ladies. Gentlemen. We’ve got to stop this. We can’t keep letting this allegory-of-a-person be our window into fantastic worlds. The the Bellas of the world, the Anas and Dianas and the Clarys… they’ve got to die. I want a book with a fearless heroine who sleeps around and makes bad decisions and doesn’t give a shit what other women do and thinks her ass needs work, but on the whole, she thinks she’s one hot momma – AND she’s still smart and in the middle of Big Shit when [enter big life-changing event] happens because you know what? When big life-changing stuff happens, your life is never empty. You’re never waiting for it. You’ve got Big Things happening to you anyway and then here comes One More.
Am I going to have to write this book? Or can someone recommend a book where the main first-person POV female actually is a real person and not a plot device?
There’s Nothing to Do Here So Instead I Watch Depressing Apocalypse Films
This recent wave of interest in the apocalypse really butters my toast. The end of days is hot shit. The Mayans may have been wrong, but we’re still mesmerized by the footage of the meteor that recently dropped in on Russia. Even the average non-morbid person is enjoying the kinder, gentler version of the apocalypse in the form of dystopian stories such as The Hunger Games or TV’s Revolution.
I just saw Seeking a Friend for the End of the World starring Steve Carrell and Kiera Knightley, both of which I love. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great, either – Kiera Knightley’s character was meant to be played by Zooey Deschanel at her most-annoying quirkiest; it felt like sitcom-version of Lost in Translation with the May-December romance. Despite a few good moments, I was left feeling emotionally gorged and yet unsatisfied, like I had eaten three cartons of Panda Express on an empty stomach.
As a connoisseur of apopculture (see? SEE WHAT WORD I INVENTED?!?), here are my recommendations for media to enjoy that suck less than Seeking a Friend: Continue reading