Review: All The Feels

I was 15 when I read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. The ending knocked me sideways. I couldn’t believe Professor Snape was evil, all evidence to the contrary. I re-read the books in a frantic search for clues that he had at least a tiny spark of good in him. Then, since I had just discovered fanfiction, I relieved my feelings with a novel-length self-insert fic to redeem him. It was juvenile – even my mother said so. But it made me feel much better.

That being said, even I find Liv Walden’s campaign to revive her favorite character a little excessive.

In an article titled “The Death of the Author”, French academic Roland Barthes wrote that in the twentieth century, the field of literature criticism went through a fundamental shift: instead of the author, we put the audience at the centre. In other words, when a story is written – or, in the case of Liv’s favorite Starveil franchise, filmed – it isn’t set in stone. It takes place inside viewers’ minds as much as on the screen. As a fanfiction reader and video maker, she should understand that. Her beloved Captain Spartan is alive as long as she believes he is. Why sacrifice immense amounts of time and effort, fail a  college exam, alienate her mother, and force a tired actor back into an unwanted role, just to make her own opinion “canon”?

I kept wondering when author Danika Stone was going to address the elephant in the room. In the very first chapter, she mentions that Starveil is something Liv shared with her father before he died. Spartan’s death itself is a heroic sacrifice on behalf of a little girl. Liv leaves the cinema in tears, her eating and sleeping habits are disrupted, her mother worries, and her friends have to physically pull off the blanket under which she’s buried. She clearly has unresolved issues about her father’s death, and her drive to bring back Spartan is understandable in that light, but surely directing her grief from a real death onto a fictional one isn’t healthy. It sounds harsh, but I was almost hoping for the “Spartan Survived” movement to fail, if only so Liv could finally face what she’s been repressing. As for Liv’s mother, who blames fandom for Liv’s poor grades and reclusive habits (and she has a point), her last appearance involves a shouting match through a locked door. Why, after such a scene, Mrs. Walden would allow her daughter to fly to a comic convention across state borders – alone with a boy, no less – we will never know.

From a certain point of view, though, one could argue that she does face some of her problems. The campaign has its good side: it pushes the shy young girl out of her comfort zone, allows her to make friends with like-minded people, and teaches her to defend herself and her work in a public space. It also brings her into closer contact with Xander Hall, her best friend, with whom she shares a romantic tension thick enough to cut.

Xander is my favorite part of this novel. An aspiring actor and the star of Liv’s campaign videos, he dresses, speaks and behaves like a nobleman of the British Regency period. Like his idol Lord Byron, he is also bisexual. He calls Liv “dearest”, coaxes her out of the house when she’s depressed, does his level best to build up her fragile confidence, and happily sits through midnight Starveil showings although he doesn’t even like science fiction. He has a weakness for French fries and texting that is endearingly at odds with his 19^th-century persona. He also has what many people wouldn’t expect from an actor: humility. “A movie serves its fans, not the actors. (…) Their opinion is the only one that matters,” he tells Liv (e-book, ch. 11, p. 41). He’s the most unique and lovable romantic hero I’ve come across since … well, since Cyrano de Bergerac a week ago, but I’m sure even Xander would agree that no one can compete with Cyrano. Still, I would have liked to see a bit more equality in their relationship. Surely someone who lives his life in cosplay would have some issues of his own, and receive emotional support as well as give it? There is a brief scene involving his girlfriend Arden, but he shrugs that off within days.

By the way, it’s a relief to find a YA author who doesn’t demonize her heroine’s romantic rival. This one is a cheerful, outgoing person who cares about Liv almost as much as Xander does. It’s not Arden’s fault that she cannot fully understand either of them. The minor characters in general were very entertaining to read about, from the string of unsuitable men Liv goes on blind dates with, to her eco-crusading classmate Hank aka Granola, to her fellow fans at DragonCon, including Brian, whose specialty is standing day-long lineups, and Sarah, who communicates exclusively via text message.

In short, while Liv as a heroine is sympathetic, the fandom world quirky and fun, and the romance satisfying, the psychological aspects of the story were not as well developed as they could have been. For a more in-depth and authentic exploration of a geek girl’s coming of age, I recommend Fangirl by Eleanor Rowell.

Review: Cyrano

“What a divine fool that Cyrano was! What a colossus of style! Quel panache!” (p. 5) The same thing could be said of Geraldine McCaughrean, the author of this book. To take a classic centuries-old play, which has been filmed in countless variations, and rewrite it in such vibrant, sparkling prose that it feels entirely new, certainly takes panache. Listen to her description of a Parisian theatre in the opening scene:  

“See that dizzying cliff-face of boxes decked out in white and gold; the tiered chandeliers being hauled into the roof ablaze with candles; the fleecy bob of wigs and sumptuous swirl of cloaks; the gallants strutting, fingers on sword-hilts; the footlights winking on … Feel the jab of saucy elbows; the brush of rouged cheeks as the scandalmongers exchange whispers; the snip-snap of pickpockets dipping like herons into pockets and purses. Countless mouths are already a-glitter with sugar from Monsieur Ragueneau’s cream horns. Blushes, drunkenness and rage soak a hundred hat-bands with sweat … ” (p. 1-2).

McCaughrean doesn’t stop at beautiful writing, however. Her characterization of Cyrano de Bergerac himself is a work of genius.

We don’t usually think of “style” as something heroic. If I describe the hero of this story, Cyrano, as someone intensely image-conscious, you will probably picture a vain and silly character checking his Facebook status or, since this is the eighteenth century, his mirror. Cyrano’s idea of style is completely different. When someone insults his infamous oversized nose, he doesn’t just fight back; he delivers a lecture on the “Art of the Insult” complete with twelve examples of nose humor (“Have a care! When you sneeze, whole fleets sink in the Spanish Main!”, p. 9), all while shredding his opponent’s clothes with a sword and not even injuring him except for one tiny cut – on the nose. And when Roxane, the woman Cyrano secretly loves, falls for a soldier named Christian and asks him to write to her, Cyrano helps the handsome but unpoetic young man write the most beautiful love letters imaginable. When a third suitor of Roxane’s, the conniving Comte de Guiche, sends Christian and Cyrano off to war (by the way, please don’t read about the hungry cadets during the siege of Arras if you haven’t eaten recently!), the stakes rise drastically for everyone concerned – and as usual, Cyrano carries matters to an extreme. I won’t spoil the ending for anyone who doesn’t know the story, but you may want a Kleenex box.

With a character like Cyrano, it’s impossible to tell where idiocy ends and heroism begins. Nowadays, we’re constantly told to love ourselves the way we are, flaws and all; in that context, Cyrano, with his painful self-consciousness about his nose and his terror of rejection, comes across like an angsty teenager. I wanted to grab him by his leather jacket and tell him to grow up. This self-deprecation has a flipside, however: self-sacrifice. He loves Roxane so much that he would give up anything to see her happy. His style, his “panache”, which he uses to hide his broken heart, is to reassure her more than anything else. Even his archenemy, the Comte de Guiche (who surprised me several times during this story – if you were expecting a one-dimensional, moustache-twirling villain, think again), has this to say about him: “He has stayed true to himself. He’s preserved his integrity (…) I don’t pity Cyrano de Bergerac. I envy him a life well lived. And I’d be proud to shake his hand, if ever I was man enough to do it” (p. 151).

It’s infuriating to see what he throws away. It’s awe-inspiring to see what he gives up.

Review: The Scent of Water

This book is for all the single women out there. If you’ve ever been hopelessly in love with someone while knowing it could never work, if you’ve ever wondered whether there’s something wrong with you for preferring to be alone, if you’ve ever thrown a book at the wall because it provides a fairy-tale romance as the only answer to real-world problems, this book is for you.

Mary Lindsay, the heroine, is a civil servant from London who prides herself on being practical. When she inherits a cottage called The Laurels in a remote village from a distant cousin she only met once as a child, the practical thing to do would be to sell it. However, to her own surprise, Mary decides to live there instead, setting off a chain of events that will affect not only her, but everyone around her.

Mary starts out believing that she is incapable of love. The wartime death of her fiancé haunts her, not only for all the obvious reasons, but because she could not return his feelings no matter how much she respected him as a person. Similarly, she feels guilty because, even though she lost touch with Mary Sr. after their one meeting, the older woman cared enough to pass on not only her cottage, but a collection of priceless miniature treasures such a blown glass tea set and a palm-sized ivory carving. Mary Jr. comes to The Laurels with a deep-seated longing to learn more about her cousin’s life, and about the imaginative, intuitive part of herself she suppressed long ago.

This is, among other things, a book about mental illness. Mary Sr.’s diaries describe a lifelong struggle with something that we might call depression or bipolar disorder: “I can’t talk to people because this illness isn’t like other illnesses (…) I remember Mother didn’t [understand] when I was a child, and I said I was lying on stones and the black walls were moving in” (ch. 5 p. 56, e-book edition). In the absence of therapy, medication, or even a name to call her condition, she turns for support to her Christian beliefs and her reverence for home and nature: “I am seeking the goodness of God that waters the dry places (…) I shall fall into black depression, and perhaps desperation too, but it will pass and spring will come with celandines and white violets in the lanes … ” (ch. 5 p. 84). Similarly, Jean Anderson, the Vicar’s sister, relies on religion to cope with her social anxiety. In the middle of panicking about her brother’s request that she visit the newly arrived Mary Jr., she feels comforted by the idea of God laughing with her about her predicament (ch. 4 p. 48).

Elizabeth Goudge describes these characters in tones of deep respect as well as compassion: “If many of [Jean’s] fears and burdens would have seemed unreal to another woman, there was nothing unreal about her courage” (ch. 4 p. 37). She does not reduce them to their labels or overanalyze them with medical jargon, neither does she make fun of them, minimize their problems, or idealize them as saints (although, to be fair, Mary Sr.’s referring to her depressive episodes as punishment for her sins may grate on a modern reader’s nerves).

What this book conveys, and what Mary Jr. learns, is the interconnectedness of all people regardless of time and space. She can still learn from her cousin and her fiancé, even after their deaths. She can love someone and be enriched by it, whether or not that person feels the same. Among her neighbors, the mutual empathy between two war veterans grows despite their involvement with the same woman, and a wealthy landowner’s business gamble becomes his salvation as well as his ruin. The web of plotlines reaches all the way back to the construction of the local abbey during the Middle Ages, in which a disfigured monk overcame his self-loathing and suicidal thoughts, learned to carry himself confidently, became a healer, and inspired his countrymen’s spiritual lives hundreds of years after his death.

“I wasn’t solitary. Everyone was me and I was everyone” (ch. 7 p. 105). It’s not an original idea by any means, but it’s one that needs repeating.

Review: Love, Lies and Spies

Love, Lies And Spies by Cindy Anstey is about all three, but perhaps not quite in the way a reader would expect.

Firstly, “Love” – Juliana and Spencer, the main characters, are very sweet together. The banter between them is intelligent and charming, from the opening scene in which he rescues her from the “embarrassing” as well as dangerous position of clinging to a cliff’s side, to the final marriage proposal. As a research assistant to her  scientist father, Juliana has sharp observational skills that complement Spencer’s talent as a spy. Also, the fact that they both keep their careers secret helps them relate to each other in ways their more conventional peers cannot. 

However, although they share the narration, I never really got to know Spencer as a character. Juliana is a fully fleshed-out teenage girl, complete with quirky habits (lecturing socialites about ladybugs), insecurities (worries about her clothes, envy of prettier girls) and flaws (forgetting the world around her, which leads to accidents such as the cliffside fall). By contrast, all I found out about Spencer is that he has beautiful blue eyes, works for the War Office, and rescues Juliana whenever she is in trouble.

Secondly, “Lies” – this romance between a sheltered girl and a spy involved in a dangerous operation goes much more smoothly than I expected. The scene in which Spencer finds Juliana’s lost fleur-de-lys pendant and suspects her of spying for the French seems to promise much more intrigue, misunderstanding and conflict than actually develops between them. On the one hand, this speaks well for Juliana’s common sense; where other heroines would sulk and feel insulted by their hero keeping secrets from them, Juliana quietly puts two and two together and accepts Spencer’s secrets as part of his job. On the other hand, it also removes a lot of the suspense from the equation.

Thirdly, “Spies” – Spencer’s work tracking smugglers and feeding misinformation to Napoleon’s spies is only a small part of the novel, and one of the least exciting. The author devotes much more time and energy to shopping trips, house parties, balls and other aspects of a Regency-era London Season with warmth, humor and (as far as the modern reader can tell) accuracy. Like her role model, Jane Austen, Anstey is strongly aware of the significance of body language; Spencer’s silent standoffs with the boorish Mr. Pyebald are minutely and cleverly described.

However, unlike Austen’s, Anstey’s language is sometimes awkward. The Regency-era slang terms such as “gullgropers”, “havey-cavey” or “Friday-faced” (included in a glossary at the back of the book), as funny, brilliant, and painstakingly researched as they are, distract from the flow of the story. Also, some of the sentences are more complicated than they need to be: “Your situation is proceeding into the realms of peril,” Spencer tells Juliana while she is dangling from the cliff.

The author’s love for, and fascination with, early 19^th-century England is obvious on every page. She loves the language, the culture and the fashions of that world, and even its hierarchies and restrictions, if only to gleefully break them. (I won’t tell you whom Juliana punches in the face, only that I found it very satisfying.) If this love occasionally carries her away, it’s a mistake I find all too easy to understand - having made it myself every time I open a good book, no matter what time it’s set in.

Haligonians March For Climate Change

On November 29, 2015, people of all ages marched along Spring Garden Road in support of the 2015 United Nations Climate Change Conference in Paris. They gathered in Victoria Park by the statue of Robert Burns to hear speeches by, among others, Tom Dock, professor of atmospheric science, and Jade Tynes, head of Dalhousie University’s Energy Action team.

“We have set eight global records for warmth this year,” said Dock. “The seas are rising. These events are no coincidence (…) Real change means real emissions targets. Real change means a real price on carbon.”

The march was an occasion for several different political conflicts to combine. “Climate change is an issue that dangerously intersects with race and class,” said Tynes, who is involved in the African-Nova Scotian community. “It amplifies all existing inequalities. Climate justice is common justice.”

“Energy East Violates Indigenous Rights,” read a sign. It refers to a pipeline project intended to carry oil from Alberta to New Brunswick, crossing 180 First Nations territories along the way.

“Divest Dal,” read another sign, referring to a group aimed at convincing Dalhousie’s Board of Governors to give up endowment funds from Shell Oil and other carbon-producing companies. In November 2014, the Board refused this request.

“Say no to Alberta tar sands,” sang the crowd, to the tune of “We Shall Overcome”, and “This solar power of ours” to the tune of “This Little Light of Mine”.

Phyllis Essex-Fraser, who has been campaigning for the environment for 30 years, heard about the event on Facebook and Twitter and took part with enthusiasm: “Even though we have a new federal government now, we need to show them that the people want action, not just words.”