@TheMovies with PopPop: Mustang

Posted on November 29, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Mustang is a 2015 Turkish (Turkish-French production) movie directed by Deniz Gamze Ergüven. It’s a movie that combines an almost fairy tale like story with the very serious issues of young women coming of age and the struggles with modernization in traditional societies.

The film, in Turkish with English subtitles and nominated for several film awards and the winner of a few, is set in more or less current time in a remote town in northern Turkey. Five young women, ages perhaps 10-16, sisters and cousins, are being raised by their grandmother in the house of one of their uncles/fathers. While unclear – to me – how many are his daughters, whether the others are the children of one or more of his brothers, whether one or more brothers have died, or what happened to the mothers, what is clear is that the 5 of them have formed a close knit tight pack, loving, teasing, sharing with each other; clearly differentiated in various ways, but a quite happy pack of young women.

The fairy tale aspect is that some of the young women have now reached, and others are reaching, the age of serious interest in young men, and the grandmother and uncle have increasingly become concerned about protecting their honor – only virgins are marriageable, certified by a doctor as necessary. So a struggle ensues where the house is slowly transformed into a fortress and the girls find ever more clever ways of getting out. After a few quite wonderful and comedic scenes, including a mass escape to attend a soccer match to which as a result of previous violence at a match, men have been barred and therefore all the local women can go, a new strategy is put into place by the grandmother and uncle of marrying them off. Things escalate, get complicated, some quite serious notes are introduced, and things end varyingly, from happily to tragically, from enthusiastic to dismal marriages, and with the two youngest attempting a final escape.

Of the five young women, only one had prior acting experience. They form a delightful ensemble. The scenes and strategies of the old women of the town are also quite special. The uncle of course is an ambiguous character.

The film transcends the narrowness of its setting and is universally recognizable, with situations and settings applicable everywhere from the least to the most traditional settings.

It’s not a great movie, but a very good one, that will make you laugh, make you angry, and mainly engage you.

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Reading Well: My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante

Posted on November 23, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Not only am I pretty late to the Elena Ferrante party, works like My Brilliant Friend (2012)–that is, what is considered “serious” contemporary literature, stuff that is positively reviewed in major newspapers and the like–rarely finds its way onto my reading pile. I don’t have much to add to the wealth of material on this book, the first of Ferrante’s four volume Neapolitan series.

The most successful element of the book is the central friendship between Elena and Raffaella (or, as they are more usually referred to, Lenù and Lila), which is traced in My Brilliant Friend from when they were very young girls well into their teenage years (which, in Naples in the middle of the 20th century includes marriage for one of them). The two are well matched, but follow separate trajectories–one using their academic success as a vehicle to escape the small neighborhood that rings their lives, the other embarking on a more traditional arc of marriage, albeit to what amounts, within that context, to a transgressive choice of partner.

Transgression is a central theme of the book: Lenù spectacularly exceeds the academic expectations of young women of her time and place, allowing her to literally exit from the neighborhood to pursue higher education; Lila who, if anything, was even more intellectually gifted, picks and chooses her moments to move beyond the expectations of those around her. These scenes, which range from trips into dark cellars to the production of a self-designed line of footwear to the constant negotiation of the changing political landscape of their few blocks on the outskirts of Naples, are portrayed with a direct touch that manages to never overstate their objective importance while retaining their primacy for the characters involved.

The key question is whether the friendship is sufficient: for many, the honesty and clarity with which the intense, somewhat obsessive nature of youthful friendships (and, perhaps, specifically young, female friendship) will carry the book through its entirety.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Other than be spectacularly successful and generate a global buzz in the pursuit of uncovering my true identity? There is an honesty to Ferrante’s writing that is to be emulated: this is, I believe, what allows the book to simultaneously present the events from the perspectives of children and young adults and to never feel juvenile, to never lose a sense of sophistication in its world-building.

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Reading Well: Supernova: The Knight, The Princess, and the Falling Star by Dewi Lestari

Posted on November 10, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Supernova (2001) by Dewi Lestari came to my attention via an article I cannot find now that talked about the global diversity of contemporary science fiction–Lestari is Indonesian, and the book is firmly set there. The subtitle was added for later editions to differentiate it from other related novels and, somewhere along the line, the author began to be referred to as Dee, not Dewi.

There are several intertwined stories in the book, most notably the interplay of the characters of the main story and two fictional authors who are collaborating in writing that story. One of the authors (they are a male couple) is a psuedo-philosopher, and the book is clearly an attempt to play with loose concepts drawn from quantum physics and postmodern philosophy.

It’s a bit scattered, and unfortunately Lestari discards the character I was most invested in following about halfway through for others who are more clearly symbolic representations of ideals instead of flesh and blood creatures of fiction.

I may suffer from too much familiarity (many of these notions were relatively central to my thesis), and people new to notions of quantum entanglement) or post-Foucauldian analyses of the way relationships intertwine may find this a reasonable introduction to those concepts. Lestari has a nice touch with humor, and the lighter moments of the book are the most successful.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

I am pretty enamored, and quite familiar, with of a lot of the ideas that the fictional authors discuss in Supernova. It would be neat to weave those into my own writing, for sure.

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Reading Well: Close to the Machine by Ellen Ullman

Posted on October 28, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

I don’t understand how I’ve never encountered Ellen Ullman‘s writing before: she writes elegantly and intelligently about the role of technology–and specifically software and software development–in our world. Close to the Machine (1997) talks about her career as a (female, no less) programmer in Silicon Valley during the very early days of the information revolution.

The first half of the book should be required reading for anyone seeking to understand what it means to create software or trying to think through what the implications of that particularly peculiar industry are for the rest of the world. It’s that good, and Ullman is unflinching as she wrestles with her own political disconnects and with what the implications are of creating tools that all too often and all too easily lose sight of their users.

She loses some steam in her second half, when the book becomes more of a personal memoir, but the writing remains confident and skillful. She has written two novels, and I will be reading one of them (The Bug, which looks to explore some of the same concerns) at some point in the next months. But it is her technical commentary and insight that had me as excited as I read it as anything I’ve picked up over the past few years.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

I don’t see my life as being memoir-worthy. And yet what is remarkable about this book is her insight and her observations, not the particular accomplishments. Sometimes, I wish I could frame my own insights in ways that felt like they could explicitly stand alone, instead of reflecting into the world through fiction. But usually, I just wish I could write more fiction.

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@TheMovies with PopPop: East Side Sushi

Posted on October 22, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

East Side Sushi, a 2014 film directed by Anthony Lucero, is a delightful cross-cultural fairy tale. Set in LA, Mexican-American single Mom Juana and her young daughter Lydia, share a household with her father. Working hard at various low paying jobs – the father mainly in a dry goods store, and she in various restaurants, as a sports club janitor, etc., they barely make ends meet, while focused on Lydia, a sweet, bright pre-teen, having a “better” life, starting with her attending a private school.

Each day, mixed in with all these jobs and a pre-dawn to after dark schedule, they also sell fresh fruit from a hand cart. The father is getting older and weaker, and after a robbery of the cart’s proceeds at the end of a busy day and Juana getting knocked unconscious, she decides she needs a different path. Over the years, she has developed remarkable knife skills (to accompany the dish washing and cleaning skills!), and so when she passes a mid-scale sushi restaurant with a help wanted sign in the window, she applies for the assistant to the chefs (dishwasher, clean-up person and whatever other tasks she’s asked to do), and despite the Japanese owners’ concerns about hiring a non-Japanese who’s never tasted, let alone worked in a sushi restaurant (can’t even use chopsticks), gets the job.

Over time, she’s asked to do more and more, from checking the fish for freshness to preparing them for the sushi chefs, to even making rolls (of course, invisibly in the back when they’re shorthanded), gets better and better at it, develops a friendship with the head sushi chef and, of course, remains unacceptable to the very traditional Japanese owner. And in a fit of pique at not being allowed to work up front at the sushi bar – after all she’s not only non-Japanese, but a woman — she quits.

In the meantime, she has entered the TV reality competition for Sushi Champions – requiring along with execution of traditional sushi items and rolls, a unique chef’s creation, which of course integrates Mexican ingredients with the traditional roll shapes and tastes – and is invited as one of four finalists to the live competition.

From there the rest is predictable, albeit with a couple of cute twists.

The film is delightful in a straight forward feel good way, is well done, and both sad and funny where it should be. Mainly in English with some subtitled dialogue between Juana and her father, an occasionally a few sentences of Japanese among the restaurant staff.

See it – you’ll enjoy it, perhaps choke up a bit, and mainly smile.

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Reading Well: Children of God by Mary Doria Russell

Posted on October 17, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Children of God (1998) is Mary Doria Russell‘s sequel to The Sparrow, which I adored and wrote about here. The structure remains similar: chapters alternate back and forth in time, with the novel as a whole closing in on an endpoint from both sides. This carries the same challenges it did the first time around, as plot elements are necessarily revealed before their dramatic moments have fully played out.

But, again, she makes it work. Emilio Sandoz’ story remains compelling, and his return to Rakhat rounds out his story in moving, surprising, and emotionally resonant ways. The book remains strongest for me when centered on Sandoz himself: he’s a great character, whose suffering and determination and intelligence shine brilliantly. As a reader, I care about him as a character, and his all-too-brief moments of happiness remain memorable long after those scenes pass.

Perhaps most impressively, most of the activity from The Sparrow is more fully explained here, and the characters lose none of their depth through that process. That’s remarkable: misunderstandings and errors in communication are central in building tension in most fiction, to unwind those and still retain a dramatic narrative is an act of great skill.

I do think The Sparrow is the better novel; but if you enjoyed that, you will certainly enjoy this.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

I forgot to do this section when I reviewed The Sparrow, so this covers both of them. Doria Russell is clearly working through big issues: faith, free will, what God’s presence in a life may actually mean, things like that. But she never comes off as preachy or academic or theoretical: those questions are lived and explored through the activities, motivations, and interactions of her characters.

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Reading Well: Storm Front by Jim Butcher

Posted on October 3, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Published in 2000, Storm Front is the first installment of The Dresden Files, a series Jim Butcher has extended over a dozen books. The protagonist is Harry Dresden, a traditional hard-edged private investigator in contemporary (or, near contemporary) Chicago. It’s all very noir: gangsters and damsels in distress and beautiful women in all roles.

The twist? Dresden is a wizard, indeed one of the only remaining powerful magicians in the world. He works as a consultant to the Chicago police department, called in whenever crimes spill over into the supernatural. The plot sits at the intersections of many worlds: the supernatural and the mundane, the legal and the illicit; and there are double-crosses and a nicely climactic showdown with the Big Bad.

That about wraps it up: it’s a nicely plotted, well-paced mystery. But, with magic!

Dresden is a solid character, but there is almost nothing surprising about him and, more problematically, little complexity to any of the various women (all attractive, some hard-edged, others manipulative, a few pure of heart).

Butcher’s grasp of magic is nicely done: it’s consistent, and it reflects a nice understanding of traditional western elemental systems.

Still, especially as a break between more demanding reads, this was an enjoyable and engrossing read.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Plot and genre, naturally. The plot of Storm Front works: it is intricate without ever feeling forced. And, as I’ve written elsewhere, being able to so totally embrace a genre is really a freeing move for a writer, providing rails within which one can bounce around.

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Reading Well: Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

Posted on September 23, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

The Remains of the Day is Kazuo Ishiguro‘s best known novel; Never Let Me Go published in 2005, was his sixth novel, followed by a seventh in 2015.

It’s an odd book. Ishiguro’s voice and craft are incredible: poised, restrained, full of both life and clarity. The novel is set in an alternative England, covering a period roughly from the 1980’s into the 1990’s–the time is marked by the emergence of the Walkman, of the first whispers of the onrushing information age. But, immediately, it is clear that something, and something vital to the core of the novel, is different.

Ishiguro’s plot runs in a series of spirals: events are foreshadowed and referenced and returned to, and the details of the exact circumstance of the main characters is only revealed gradually, with some details never fully explained. As such, to not spoil the tension of the novel, it is enough to say that it follows a set of friends through their life at a specially created, somewhat bucolic, private school in the English countryside and then into the wider world. The purpose of the school, the relation of the students to the teachers (called guardians), and their later roles in society are all slowly peeled away as Kathy (the narrator), Ruth, and Tommy grow up.

There is a love triangle, and there are some interesting observations along the way about creativity, sex, and, ultimately, the intersection of technology and civilized society.

All that sounds a bit mysterious, but it’s neither a mystery book nor a thriller. Instead, it has the feel of a Gothic work, where the atmosphere is draped over everything, and the meaning behind it only apparent at the end.

Ishiguro’s skill makes it a worthwhile experience. As I read, I kept thinking how it should be adapted for film: turns out it already was, a 2010 motion picture was released to critical praise, but little commercial success. I have not seen it, but plan to.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Ishiguro’s prose is just so controlled. It lets him combine musings on the motivations of other characters with very direct statements of intent and anticipation in a way that, if it were less skillfully handled, would feel forced and wooden. But, it never does. Writing interiority like that is pretty amazing.

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@The Movies with PopPop: Hell or High Water

Posted on September 15, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

Hell or High Water, a 2016 release directed by David Mackenzie and starring Chris Pine, Ben Foster, Jeff Bridges and Gil Birmingham, is a solidly crafted modern Western with an old time plot of good guy does bad for good, set within current economics.

Set in rural Texas on dusty lands with failed farms, no job opportunities, and folks struggling to retain what shreds of decency and integrity they have in the face of a system providing little or nothing for them, Toby (Pine) is a divorced father of two teen-aged boys who live with his ex-wife. His mother has recently died, after living on a reverse mortgage on their land, about to be foreclosed and possessed by the bank. While oil has recently been found on the land, and is projected to generate several tens of thousands of dollars a month, unless Toby can pay off about $40,000 owed to the bank within the next week or so, the land will become the bank’s, clearly leaving his children as yet another generation in poverty, with little or no hope of ever breaking out of that cycle – from Toby’s grandparents to parents to him to his children.

Toby hatches a plan with Tanner, his ne’er-do-well ex-con of a brother (Foster) to rob several small banks, taking only the untraceable small bills from the cash drawers and not touching the larger amounts of money in the banks’ safes. After robbing several small branches, they’re close to enough money to pay off the debt and put the land in a trust for his children. As the amounts are small in each case, the FBI is uninterested, and so a pair of Texas Rangers, Marcus (Bridges), a near retired officer and Alberto (Birmingham), his Mexican-Comanche partner, take on the case. Bridges plays one of those wise old intuitive lawman (reminiscent of some Tommy Lee Jones roles) who figures out what’s going on.

For their last bank, they hit a much larger branch and for the first time run into serious problems. There’s shooting, deaths and a chase. Alberto and then Tanner are killed, but Toby gets away and completes the bank transaction.

The last scene is a confrontation between Toby and Marcus, in which they share details of what’s occurred, but delay any final confrontation between them.

The movie moves quite well, has some funny lines and ironic turns, and manages to retain deep sympathy for Toby and his desperation, the nature of his plan, and the folks of Oklahoma, while without preaching, being clear that within the system, the bank is the only thing that prospers through the deterioration of working folks hopes and aspirations.

See it – it’s a first rate old time movie, And the only movie I’ve seen in a theater in a long time that I thought was worth a review!

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Reading Well: The Wolf Border by Sarah Hall

Posted on September 12, 2016 by Daniel (@MKNN)

The Wolf Border (2015) is Sarah Hall‘s third novel that I’ve written about, following Daughters of the North and The Electric Michelangelo. I really enjoy her writing, and I received the paperback edition of The Wolf Border with great anticipation.

It did not disappoint, not least of all because of the ways in which it adds to the diversity of her output. Rachel, the novel’s protagonist, is richly drawn and a character whose flaws are evident and on display, but in a way that communicates humanity and not weakness. She is a field biologist specializing in the reintroduction of wolves into the wild, and the novel follows two primary plots; one of which revolves around her being approached by a wealthy and slightly eccentric aristocrat to leave her current role in the USA and lead an effort to bring wolves back to his massive estate on the border between England and Scotland. The other follows an unexpected pregnancy and its impact on Rachel, her family, and her close circle.

The geography of that part of the world remains obviously dear to Hall’s heart, but she has matured as a writer: while the land was almost a separate character in The Daughters of the North, here it serves as deep background, the anchoring context for the actions of the characters. The wolves are dealt with well, too: neither romanticized nor brutalized, they exist as compelling creatures, with no real attempt to decode or humanize their behavior.

But the story is really Rachel’s, and her relationships, her decisions, and her navigation of a constellation of lovers and family (a mother whose presence remains constant and dominating long past her death and a brother with whom she faces a complex path towards reconciliation) are the core of the book. She is strong, and fiercely independent, and tends towards a solitary existence without compromising her passion or her passions. That makes her an unusual female character, and is complicated considerably by the pregnancy storyline.

There are some plotting choices with which I would squabble, but I found the book compelling and memorable.

#WhatIWishICouldDo

Hall’s prior protagonists had their own depth, but Rachel is cut from much thicker cloth. Her actions are clearly motivated and remain problematic for her: it is a glimpse into both the benefits and the costs of certain personal and professional choices, and I think that complexity is amazing. Too often, my own protagonists are vehicles through which the world unfolds and the action happens, and while they may be flawed, creating a character with whom the reader has enough sympathy and investment to watch them make difficult and perhaps poor choices while not losing interest is a goal for me. Hall does that with Rachel.

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