Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Y’know, I kept telling people I wasn’t really that excited about Harry Potter anymore. And I really meant it. I couldn’t explain it, but somehow as all the hype about the final book built up, I really just didn’t care.

I got done with WoW around…oh, I dunno, whenever I made my last post, and then AB was fussing instead of staying asleep, so I sat up with her a little bit, and read the story some, and before 1:00 she was sound asleep.

Anyway, long story short, I’m on chapter fourteen now, and only going to bed because I have to. So, I’d say I’m caught up in it again.

Journal Entry: November 2, 2006

Some of you will have heard all this already. These topics have been very much on my mind over the last few days….

There are a lot of people who turn to literature (or art or entertainment in general) as a form of escapism. Especially the fantasy genre. There are many, many artists who create art as a form of escapism. Again, especially in fantasy. I guess the basic idea is, “This world sucks, so I’ll go spend some mind-time in a world over which I have complete control.” The two sets don’t necessarily overlap. A lot of time you’ll find artists using their escapism, asserting their control, to create a world that is very not escapist. The really dark and unpleasant and depressing stuff can be completely relaxing to its creator. Better to give than to receive, and all that.

Anyway, I think writing-as-escapism is, for the most part, just assumed. I know I always did. Sometimes it would confuse me, but it just made sense that the reason I’d dream up all these stories was to get away from the real world.

It’s really not true, though. Not for me. I’ve come to recognize that fact more and more over the last couple weeks.

A lot of writers turn to their fantasy worlds when their real life gets too real. I’m the opposite. I really cannot write, cannot invest myself in my fiction, unless my real world is in good order. All of my history of writing supports that, and…I dunno. It makes sense to me. It fits with who I am.

I have a family history of susceptibility to addictive behavior. My parents made sure I was well aware of that, growing up, and it’s a big part of my self-awareness. I keep an eye out for that. I drink, and some evenings I drink a lot, but I am constantly watching myself, paying attention, wondering if maybe it’s become an addiction.

It’s not. It could be, and I can see how easily it could be, but alcohol isn’t really my weakness. Not drugs, either. Maybe food, sometimes, but even that…not really. Video games, probably. Not writing, though.

In high school I had a counselor suggest that I make up my stories to hide from the real world. I think, at different times, both of my parents sat me down and talked with me about that, too. And I’m sure I could have gone that way, but I didn’t. You see, I’ve always taken my writing very seriously. Parable of the Talents, and all. I think of my storytelling as a way to impact the world, to make it better.

I can’t do that if I’m hiding from the world. So I don’t. If the world is challenging me — if I’m truly stressed out — then I can’t find my way to my fantasy world. Back in high school, I wrote The Poet Alexander as a sort of catharsis, describing my whole relationship with Trish (by whom I’d been dumped, at the time) in the characters of noble and brilliant Alex, so stricken by the cruelties of the woman who had spurned him.

I dunno. Catharsis has just never really been my game. I couldn’t finish the book, as much as I wanted to. Trish and I got back together in our junior year, though, and I finished the book all in a rush. A hundred and twenty pages in a week, over half of that in a single night. (It was a crazy night.) I didn’t really change the story, but it had hope. The ending was still sad, in its way, and Trish never appreciated that, but it took that…peace, I think, in my real world, to let me write at all.

Taming Fire was the same way. I wrote it during my happiest time at college. Two years later, I decided to give it a full rewrite, and I was blazing along on that, doing an awesome job (and making good time), until the second semester of my senior year hit, and suddenly I realized I had no job prospects. I had no idea what I was going to do, and I had a family to feed. Ugh. I spent most of that semester in panic, and I barely wrote a word. I think I got a C in Creative Writing that semester.

Yeah.

Got the job at Lowrance, which paid way better than I’d expected. Then we got Trish through with school, and she got a job, and everything settled down and was looking good (this was before I realized I hated that job), and I tore up on the rest of that rewrite. It was really some of the most productive writing I’d ever done. I even got some major work on King Jason’s War done before work started to wear at me, and then I stopped. And work got worse and worse, and for two years I didn’t write a thing.

I’ve been thinking about these things, as month after month goes by without us getting a rent check on the Tulsa house, and Sleeping Kings goes unfinished, and I open up Word to write, and find I have nothing to say. I can’t get into the story, I can’t go there, because there’s too much unfinished here….

And I always thought maybe I’d be a writer now, if things had been different. Maybe if I hadn’t married Trish, I would have tried the starving artist thing. I don’t think so, though. I dunno, maybe it would be different if I didn’t have a family to feed. Maybe I’d be willing to give in to the escapism, to sacrifice the real world for my imaginary one, but I really don’t think so. I think my parents raised me with too great a sense of responsibility, in that regard at least.

I need stability, I need comfort, I need peace, before I can go to that place where the U. S. is falling apart and golden ages burn, where civilization itself threatens to crumble. It’s a pretty strange situation.

I think I’m proud of myself for that, though. But, yeah, I hope things get better soon. I would really like to get to the part where everything blows up, y’know?

Greatness: The Power of the Written Word

We went to see The DaVinci Code yesterday….

Here’s the thing. I’m often going to be called a snob, or just generally hateful toward popular culture, and to some extent both of those things are true. I mean, I just hate Tom Hanks because I hate him — I’ve got no good reasons.

The DaVinci Code, though, and that damn Anne Rice — those I hate for different reasons.

See, I’ve lived most of my life thinking of myself as a writer. And, as all of you know, I’m a very introspective sort of person, so I’ve paid close attention to what I was doing. More than that, I’ve always felt it was my religious calling to write, that my gifts were given in order to accomplish something.

And that leads straight to my point. Writing matters. Art matters. Our cultural symbolism and stories shape the worlds we live in, and they can do that in very powerful ways. This includes popular music and dime novels and all of it. Interview with the Vampire shapes our view of the world in exactly the same way that Stoker’s Dracula does. Except, of course, for the new shape presented.

And if that’s true, then it says something about the role of writers. Not just that they’re important (which, of course, I believe is true), but that they have a responsibility. If I’m writing two hundred pages of chitchat to entertain you in your free time, then my sole responsibility is to write something that entertains. I could throw in some deep, thought-provoking dialogue if I wanted to, as long as it didn’t detract from the entertainment value. That’s how Kris, for instance, feels that most popular entertainment works. I think that’s how most people approach it. “It’s just a movie.” That sort of thing.

But if our entertainment shapes the way we view the world, then everything changes. Then every book you read and every movie you write changes your world (for better or for worse). The entertainment value, then, is not the point of the piece, but the bait that keeps you in the trap long enough for it to have its full effect.

Everything I’ve seen of literature (and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of it) indicates that the latter is true. And, as I’ve said, not just for high literature but for every soap opera or trashy romance novel you ever read (or, hitting closer to home, every opinionated website or goofy collection of flash animations). There’s a thousand ways in which it works, too.

First, we all build meaning in our lives based on stories. You learn that the stove is dangerous through an autobiography: “And then, in spite of all the ‘nos’ and ‘hot! bad!’ from Mom, I touched the hot stove, and it hurt.” That story gives meaning to “no” and “hot” and “bad.” They’re no longer just shouted admonitions, and no longer just empty instructions, backed by the threat of punishment. They are meaningful warnings of the dangers the world holds.

As we get older, we get better at interpreting and applying stories. We learn to listen to biographies. “Tommy got caught lying to teacher and he got fifteen swats!” And so we add pieces to our picture of the world without having to directly experience them. Of course, this is also when we become vulnerable to lies (and fiction) misshaping our world.

And, of course, we eventually learn to respond to fiction, to allegory, to metaphor. We learn to listen to a story that’s not real, or not about anyone we know, or not directly applicable to our lives, and take the meaning out of it that does apply to our lives. Think of your favorite parable (Zen or Christian, doesn’t matter), and you know exactly what I’m talking about.

A major portion of the human experience comes from listening to stories and applying them to our lives. A major portion of the adult experience is burying that process so deep beneath our conscious awareness that only Literature and Film majors are expected to ever talk about it, and they’re considered a little goofy for doing it.

But you do it. You internalize the messages of the media that you participate in. This doesn’t mean you ape the actions you see on the screen or read on the page. Watching a violent movie or playing a violent video game doesn’t make you a violent person. Rather, it adds a vivid awareness of violence to your view of the world. There are some people who really believe the world isn’t a violent place, and for them, watching (I dunno) Pulp Fiction or playing GTA would seem so terrible….

You know why? Because it’s actively challenging and reshaping their world.

And here’s the thing: violent games can make violent people act violent. It’s not the game making them violent, though. It’s a part of their personality made visible in their environment. If violent games couldn’t do that to us, then inspiring stories couldn’t lead people to do great things, and romantic stories couldn’t melt hardened hearts. The world around us is far too big to take in all at once, so we view it, constantly, through personal filters. Dynamic filters. Stories help us to change the filters, ever so slightly, to see something that was hidden before, or to see something familiar in a new light. In the most dramatic cases, this leads to action (good or bad), but far more often it’s a subtle change, that will persist until the next story changes your filters again….

It’s a deliberate process, too, from the writer’s point of view. Let me use an example that I mentioned to Trish yesterday, after watching the movie. There’s a scene in the movie (I doubt this is any kind of spoiler) when Joe and Magneto are debating some of the finer aspects of mythical history. They accept from the start that the church is a fraud actively perpetrated against humanity, and (from that base) get into a really heated debate about whether the fraud was perpetrated this way or that way. It’s easy to get caught up in the debate.

That’s something we are taught in Creative Writing classes. It’s a fantastic trick. Because the reader, who (knowing they are reading fiction) is actively working to believe your fantasy story (at least enough to keep reading). Part of the unconscious process of reading fiction is distinguishing which parts of the story you’re supposed to take for granted (just as part of the story), and which parts you’re supposed to consider suspect (such as individual characters’ motivations). If I wrote a book on Church history and said outright that this or that had happened, you would stop and think, “No, that can’t be right, it goes against so much other historical evidence.”

If, though, I hand you a fictional story and say, “Read this, it’s entertaining,” and then within the story I suggest that the same thing happened, you are trained to accept that just within the confines of the story. That works out really well for sci-fi and fantasy, because usually the fantastic premise is something that you’d have to work really hard to incorporate into your regular worldview. Something like “the Catholic church is out to get us,” though…that’s something a lot of people want to think anyway. So it’s a lot easier to accidentally take it with you when you put the book down.

So, back to my example from the movie. When Forest and Gandalf are arguing the fine details (“The Christians started it!” “Nuh uh, the pagans started it!”) you evaluate these items the way you normally would a story element (that is, decide to accept it within the story, but reject it once the story is over). The very action of their debate keys you in that this is something you’re supposed to consider suspect. And, by contrast, the things that they agree on seem even more reasonable and less suspect than it normally would, because these dissenting voices agreed on it out-of-hand.

It’s just one of the tools that we, as writers, are taught to use to deliberately affect the way you, as readers, view the world. Sneaky little things that we drop between paragraphs while we’re crafting a story that’s entertaining enough to keep you reading. That’s the work of the author, and he has a responsibility to treat his readers right. Every orator out to change his audience’s mind has the same responsibility. The better you are at it, the more compelling your message or the more receptive your audience, the greater your responsibility to impact their world in a positive way.

Naturally, there have always been those who have abused the power of oratory. Some earnestly believed the message they were preaching (corrupt though it may have been). Some manipulated others for personal gain. The worst, though, are those so irresponsible that they toss world-changing words on a crowd at a whim, without thought of the consequences. Those who twist words for a quick buck, or just for the spectacle it produces.

I’ll spend most of my life striving to be able to impact people with my words, and the rest of it trying to make my words worthy of the people who hear them. It disgusts me, deep down, to see someone abusing that power.

That’s all.

Journal Entry: Home Again

I wanted to have a thoughtful, serious essay for you today, but I just can’t seem to find it. I figure, anyway, that the least I can do is provide some details on my trip, from which I am safely returned.

Seattle is very cool. I liked it quite a lot. I really love big cities on big bodies of water, because it’s fascinating the way the cities pile up right next to the shoreline, whatever it is, until it seems like the city itself was built out of the water, or the shore carved out with a knife…. It’s a blind watchmaker thing, where you can easily mistake the effect for the cause, and it creates an incredible mental image.

The city put me in mind of New York City nestled in remote English countryside, with the cultural reflections in both directions that such a situation would engender. I liked NYC much more than I expected to. Seattle, I think, excels far beyond that, although (as part of that very excellence) it lacks the pungent vulgarity of NYC which, you must admit, is a significant part of the flavor.

I made a new friend. Not generally something I do, and not often something I’m excited about, but I like Irene. She’s cool.

I came back from Travel to find Adobe Creative Suite 2 Premium waiting at my desk. It’s a software package I requested immediately after I got here. The wheels of time grind slow, in government work, but they grind exceedingly fine. Which is to say that Adobe Creative Suite 2 Premium is exceedingly fine. Y’know, like a hot lady. Good stuff.

Oh! I spoke with Josh on my trip. In spite of the entirety of the contents of the call, it was awesome to actually talk with him. It’s been too long, and it probably will be again, but I enjoyed being in touch.

And, for reading material on my journey, I took along a book that Toby had gotten me for my birthday more than a year ago, Fluke by Christopher Moore. Christopher Moore is the one who wrote Lamb (which you should read, if you haven’t, or read again, if you have), and Toby and Gwyn liked his writing so much that, as far as I can tell, they bought and read everything he’s ever written. And, shortly after, what should show up in my birthday present wrappings but Fluke. I just assumed it was another funny story, which they enjoy sharing — I didn’t realize it would be tailor-written to me. Err…in a way. Anyway: hilarious, incisive, insightful, just like Lamb, but without all the heresy. Just finished it over lunch today.

I had a 3 1/2 hour layover in Denver airport. I had Trish’s laptop with me. I discovered I could buy high-speed wireless access for $10. You bet I did! I spent the entire layover playing Alterac Valley. So there’s how much of a nerd I am. We won the battleground (only my third win in hundreds of games), and I actually shouted out, “Yay!” in the middle of a crowded gate. So there’s how much of a dork I am.

Hope you had a good week. I’ll try to write something useful soon….

Harry Potter

Who would have guessed a children’s book could inspire so much adult language in its readers….

Harry Potter (Major Spoilers)

Okay, I’m halfway through the book, and here’s my most recent theory:

Harry is falling in love with Ginny, throughout the first half of the book. Well, I think Harry is going to just keep getting more and more obsessed with Ginny, and worried about her (y’know, with all the disappearances, and all the danger now that Voldemort is loose), and eventually he’ll just kinda flip out, and go make a deal with Voldemort to protect her.

But, of course, Dumbledore is watching closely, so he’ll confront Harry about it, and Harry will get really angry (like he did in book 5), and then Ginny will show up to tell him he’s being a total prat and he should be nice to Dumbledore, and Harry will totally lash out at her, and accidentally hex her, and then Dumbledore will try to restrain him and they’ll end up fighting all over this abandoned lava world until Dumbledore finally wins and leaves Harry for dead.

But then Voldemort’s drones will rescue Harry and put him back together. He’ll survive, of course, but…corrupted. More machine than man….

And then he’ll kill off all the Jedi.

Greatness: Reading Recommendation

(First, let me say this: if you people don’t COMMENT, how am I going to know how wrong I am? C’mon!)

Okay, finished Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (it’s mentioned in the Recommended Reading post I made earlier). I now highly urge you to read this book. Not just because it’s got ideas relevant to these Conversations (which is why I recommended it before), but just because it’s a tremendous read. Everyone who reads this blog at all, will enjoy reading that book.

It’s amazing what the book is attempting to do. Y’know how the Romans didn’t feel like their people had a strong enough sense of pride in their Romanity, so they made up the story of Aeneas to connect their history to the ancient Greek mythology?

No? Well, they did. And it worked. And I think, at some point, Julius Caesar ended up tracing his ancestry back to Mars or Apollo or some such. The deMedicis did the same thing, creating a myth that they were somehow part of a much greater, ancient mythos.

It feels like Samantha Clarke is trying to do that for Britain today. She’s telling this story that is clearly fictional as though it were history, and she is setting up precisely that kind of myth. It’s as big as King Arthur, in its own way. It’s one of those stories that is more real than actual history, because it brings Meaning to the lives of the people.

Daniel and I have often discussed the need for more mythology in today’s world, and pretty much decided it would have to be some new kind of thing. Something that incorporated technology and naturalism and (*shudder*) logic, in order to WORK with today’s expectations.

Samantha Clarke didn’t bother with that. This is pure, old-fashioned, highly Brit-Lit mythology. I love it. It’s incredibly fun to read.

Also, I get the impression there’s going to be a sequel, but the book is quite excellent as a standalone.

Anyway, go buy it. Read it. And, also, comment on my posts, or else!

God, Government, and Greatness: Suggested Reading

Well, we’ve already discussed the viability of my ideas in the classroom. How about a reading list?

These are a few of the works that I’m closely familiar with which, I would say, bear direct and meaningful impact on the ideas I’m discussing in these conversations. If you have a recommendation of the same sort, I’d very much welcome your posting it as a comment to this post, or in response to any post that brings the recommendation to mind.

Susanna Clarke’s “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel” – Novel
I’m about a third of the way through this one, and quite confident it belongs on the list. Daniel recommended it to me personally, and even before that I’d heard such great things of it that I was already convinced. I just resumed reading it today. It deals with a modern day revival (during the Napoleonic wars) of practical magic in England.

Richard Dawkins’s “Unweaving the Rainbow” – Treatise
This is another I haven’t finished, and also one Dan recommended to me. It’s an atheist scientist’s reaction to the non-scientific world’s (specifically the poetic world’s) complaints that scientists strip life of its magic in exchange for petty knowledge. I’m very interested in what he has to say, because I very much hold the claim he’s directly refuting.

Roger Zelazny’s “The Chronicles of Amber” – Novel series
A series of five short novels (with a sequel series of five more) concerning a family of Princes able to construct worlds out of their imaginations. It is a direct exercise in the fantastic aspects of Social Constructionism, as well as a VERY well constructed story, as well as a really uplifting piece on the human condition. I recommend it above any other piece of literature, ever.

John Milton’s “Paradise Lost” – Umm…poem, right?
Read it. Actually, take a course on it. It’s worth it. If they offered the kind of lit courses on Zelazny that they offer on Milton, I’d be saying the same for those, but go enroll right now for a course on Paradise Lost if you haven’t taken one before. If you’re a Christian and a remotely academic person, you need to realize just how much of our mythology derives directly from this one piece, as well as the power of its imagery in the original setting.

I know there are more. I’ll follow up with further comments as they occur to me.