Showing posts with label blog post. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog post. Show all posts

Friday, December 29, 2017

2017: A Year in Books

Another year peels off the calendar. As I age, every cycle happens faster and faster.

Seward, Alaska, the place that most epitomizes my 2017
We like to imagine New Year's as some sort of definitive delineation, a border wall keeping the years strictly separate. Every New Year's is an opportunity to redefine and re-imagine ourselves. We engage in all sorts of ludicrous, nonsensical traditions that epitomize this symbolic holiday. From grapes to countdowns. Midnight kisses to "Auld Lang Syne," that song that posits "should all acquaintances be forgot?" Whether meaningful or not, we do lip service to these traditions anyway, and name every year at exactly 12:00 am on January 1st a "fresh start." Our deeds from yesterday are wiped clean. The deeds of tomorrow practically a different life.

This year I'm going to invent a new approach to celebrating this imaginary line in the sand: a look back on what was one of the most varied and interesting years in my life through the lens of the books I read.

Every Book a Signpost Along a Circuitous Journey

Each book not only carries me away into a fictional dimension but also fixes my mind in the time and space where I read it. When I think about The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett, for example, crystalline images of sitting on the porch of a charming bed and breakfast in Medocino, California with the sun lancing down on my bare shoulders and the boom of the Pacific Ocean in the rugged hollows of nearby crags comes instantly to my mind. The sights and smells of that day flood back like a dammed river returned to its former course. I didn't read the entire book while sitting on that porch, probably only twenty or thirty pages. But it is to that setting I will forever return when reminiscing on that book.

Or with Outlander by Diana Gabaldon. I recall sitting in the forward lounge of the M/V Malaspina while we lurched our way up the Inside Passage towards our new home in Alaska, the thrill of adventure and the unknown future fresh in my mind. Or mention The Circle by Dave Eggers, and I am curled up in a hotel room in the downtown core of Seattle, edgy and writhing like a fish out of water as a small-town boy in the heart of a huge city.

On and on it goes. My year comes back to me, each book a signpost on the adventure that was 2017.

I began the Homer-esque epic of 2017 in a living room on New Year's Eve, laughing nearly to tears with family and friends and we played a silly board came called Telestrations (sort of a combination of telephone and Pictionary) back in Colorado. I didn't know at the time that the tortuous path of 2017 was already laid out before my feet.

My journey in 2017. Starting in Colorado in January, heading west to California for four months, then up through Oregon, Washington, the Inside Passage to the Yukon and into Alaska. This route is about 3,800 miles and doesn't include several lengthy side trips....
Just a few days later, the blur of towns and states, the rush of miles under the wheels, the hundreds evening beach walks, thousands of vistas of snow-tipped mountains and glinting rivers was underway. Utah, Nevada, California. Oregon, Washington, British Columbia, the Yukon, Alaska.

Books carried me along.

The Tomes

What follows is every book I read in 2017. A grand total of 24. Not bad. Probably not as many as you. But considering the numerous distractions I suffered this year (writing a novel, traveling, job seeking, two major relocations, etc) I think I did all right.

Twenty-four books in 365 days is an average of 15.2 days per book. Such numbers reveal only a partial story. Some of these books, like Ender's Game and The Remains of the Day, were short and engaging, and I blasted through them in a couple of days. Others, like Outlander, were long and tedious, bogging me down and stretching on for weeks. 

Overall, I am proud of what I read in 2017. The list spans a broad spectrum from sci-fi tales like Look to Windward, Ender's Game, and Journey to the Center of the Earth to fantasy romps like American Gods, The Fifth Steason, and Uprooted. Nobel or Pulitzer Prize-winning masterpieces like All the Light We Cannot See, The Remains of the Day and The Underground Railroad to even a few indie books like City of Slaves, Aes Sidhe and Druid's Portal.

2017 was a great adventure. And the books that carried me through it were journey in their own right. 

All the Light We Cannot See (Anthony Doerr)
A Pulitzer Prize winning tale about a blind girl in the midst of WWII-torn France. This stunningly beautiful tale might perhaps take the prize as my favorite book of 2017. All the Light was one of those books which just reading it probably made me better writer.

American Gods (Neil Gaiman)
A modern fantasy classic. A battle between gods of the old cannon, like Odin and Loki, against the new gods (internet, television, etc). American Gods won both the Hugo and Nebula awards in 2002.

The Circle (Dave Eggers)
A near-future sci-fi in which today's over-saturation of social media is taken to its logical conclusion. Hints of 1984, but where the power to watch you comes from a Google/Facebook-like company called The Circle and all of its vehement followers.

City of Slaves (Abby Goldsmith)
An excellent indie tale (published only on Wattpad for now) about a civilization of mind-reading humanoids who enslaves all other inter-galactic races. Intriguing implications of mob rule, the internet, and other social phenomenon throughout.  

The Handmaid's Tale (Margaret Atwood)
An uncomfortable literary dystopic novel in which a hyper-conservative, patriarchal society subjugates women for their own benefit.

The Windup Girl (Paolo Bacigalupi)
A Nebula and Hugo Award winning dystopic sci-fi about a future empire in Thailand where food is scarce and tightly-controlled by Monsanto-like gene corporations, and people can be mulched for the fuel contained in their decomposing bodies.

The Fifth Season (N.K. Jemisin)
The first book in the Broken Earth Trilogy and winner of the 2016 Hugo Award. A massive earthquake has sent the world into a "fifth season," a state of near-apocalypse. Orogenes, humans with the power to influence tectonic activity, are deplored, exploited and persecuted by society. 

The Obelisk Gate (N.K. Jemisin)
Second book of the Broken Earth Trilogy and also the 2017 Hugo Award winner. The broken society settles into its new state as the continued apocalypse wages all around.

The Stone Sky (N.K. Jemisin)
The conclusion to the Broken Earth trilogy and my guess for the winner of the 2018 Hugo Award. The ancient battle between the "Evil Earth" and humans finds its dramatic end.

Look to Windward (Iain M. Banks)
Part of Banks's "Culture" series, Look to Windward posits intriguing and prescient notions about artificial intelligence and future society.

Player of Games (Iain M. Banks)
As a futuristic society of human/AI symbiosis known as the "Culture" expands their holdings into the galaxy, they discover a race who plays a most interesting and complex game with the highest stakes. The Culture sends in their best player of games into to conquer it.

Druid's Portal (Cindy Tomamichel)
A small-press novel, Druid's Portal unfolds the story of an archaeologist who mistakenly travels through time into Ancient Rome in pursuit of a thief. The tale includes, adventure, mystery and romance.

The Color of Magic (Terry Pratchett)
This whimsical faux-fantasy is the introduction into Terry Pratchett's cultural phenomenon known as Discworld, a flatearth land of nonsense, side-splitting humor, intriguing characters, and even a sentient, finger-eating treasure chest full of gold.

Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
A 1991 classic that helped launched the "time-traveling romance" genre into the mainstream. A WWII nurse inadvertently travels back to 18th century Scotland. 

Wool (Hugh Howey)
Another dystopic sci-fi. The world's air has become poisoned so thoroughly humans are forced to live in massive, underground structures known as "silos." A web of conspiracy, lies and murder is uncovered and the distinct hierarchy of the silo is upended.

Court of Twilight (Mareth Griffith)
A urban fantasy novel that uncovers the world of trows in Ireland.

The Underground Railroad (Colson Whitehead)
Winner of the 2017 Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award (a feat only accomplished by seven or eight books in history), The Underground Railroad is not exactly a joy to read, but it is important. America was built on slavery, genocide and subjugation. This tale humanizes that terrible time in our history with brilliant understatement.

Aes Sidhe (Fergal Nally)
An indie novel written by writer friend and colleague, Fergal Nally, Aes Sidhe is a fast-paced thrilling fantasy ride that draws its power from folklore and legendary traditions such as King Arthur and, of course, the Aes Sidhe.

Alexander Hamilton (Ron Chernow)
A massive yet engaging epic biography that covers the life of one of the most intriguing and fascinating of all America's founding fathers. This massive tome was also the inspiration to the smash Broadway hit, Hamilton, which became a cultural phenomenon and perhaps the greatest play thus far of the 21st century.

Uprooted (Naomi Novcik)
A finalist for the Nebula Award, Uprooted is a page-turning fantasy tale of a village girl named Agnieszka who lives on the border of a malicious forest known as "the Wood." Agnieszka is taken by a mysterious wizard to his castle to function as his servant and disciple in his efforts to counter the Wood's horrible power.

This House of Sky (Ivan Doig)
Perhaps the most brilliantly written prose I read in 2017. Having grown up the son of a struggling rancher in rural Montana, Doig baffles me how he learned to write so brilliantly. This House of Sky is Doig's memoir. It unfolds his life in Montana and the unique drama that encapsulated his family.


The Remains of the Day (Kazuo Ishiguro)
When Ishiguro won the 2017 Nobel Prize for literature I admit I didn't know who he was. I decided I better find out. For most of The Remains of the Day I couldn't decide what was so great about it. It is very slow paced and rambles on for pages and page about things like what makes a great butler. In the last few pages, however, the book turned on its head, making me reconsider what I thought about everything else. 

Ender's Game (Orson Scott Card)
Ender's Game is a modern sci-fi classic. Though there are some who object to Card based on his occasionally inflammatory social commentary, and the apparent misogynistic nature of his tales, Ender's Game nonetheless is a page-turning romp that contains elements of Star Wars-esque space opera as well as the placing-children-in-the-fatal-heart-of-conflict nature of Hunger Games.

Journey to the Center of the Earth (Jules Verne)
I picked this up at a thrift store for a couple of quarters because I occasionally like to read the classics. Jules Verne is without question one of the grandmasters and original minds of science fiction. However, by modern storytelling standards this tale probably would never have gotten off the ground. This is an unfair comparison, however, as it was written a century and a half ago and is one of the foundation blocks of the genre. It still reads fairly well and contains an interesting tale of adventure and science.

There it is, a journey through space and time and the strangest corners of my imagination and the imaginations of the authors who guided me there. 2018 is sure to bring wonders of all sorts. New people, places and yes, of course, books. I hope to see you there!

EPILOGUE: My 2017 Book Awards

My personal awards for 2017. The "best of" list from the 24 books I read this year.

Best Fantasy 
The Fifth Season (N.K. Jemisin)
This is a tricky one for me because The Fifth Season is one of those genre-bending books that occasionally tips into science fiction. However, of the three books in this series (all of which I read in 2017) it is the most fantasy-like, and was an engaging, page-turner.

Best Sci-Fi
The Player of Games (Iain M. Banks)
This was a bit of a toss-up between this book and Wool by Hugh Howey. However, I found that the ideas in The Player of Games, like many Banks novels, are the type that make you wonder "how did he come up with that? His writing always seems startlingly prescient and predictive of a believable trajectory in our technological future. Additionally, this book was a page turner and kept me on my toes right up to the blistering conclusion.

Best Literary
All the Light We Cannot See (Anthony Doerr)
Fresh out of college, I was a bit of a book snob and read "literary" novels exclusively. Now, I like to dabble in books of almost every ilk. Literary Fiction may be hard to define, nevertheless I feel confident that at least four of the books I read this year would land on those shelves in most bookstores. Each of them was amazing and I felt like a better writer after reading them. However, I just loved the way Doerr tackled an over-used topic like WWII in a fresh and intriguing way. The prose was painfully brilliant, and the complex characters and thematic development are what tip me into giving this book the nod over the others.

Best Non-Fiction
Alexander Hamilton (Ron Chernow)
It is a bit embarrassing to admit I only read two non-fiction books this year, this one and Ivan Doig's memoir, This House of Sky. Both were brilliant in their own ways and very hard to compare. One is a biography of a colonial-era founding father, the other an autobiography that details life in the American West of the mid-20th century. I'm going with Hamilton because, despite its brick-like appearance and massive attention to detail, it was an engaging and enlightneing page turner. I found myself wishing for someone, HBO or Netflix or Showtime, to adapt it into a drama series. If I didn't have so many projects already perhaps I would start scribbling up a screenplay....

Grand Prize: Best Book
All the Light We Cannot See (Anthony Doerr)
There it is, my grand prize winner. I just can't say enough about it. Brilliant, complex, critically beloved (Pulitzer Prize winner) and commercially successful. This is my kind of book. It tickles the literature major and the writer in me and remains a powerful glimpse into one of the most fascinating time periods in world history, yet does so in an interesting and original way.

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If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not reading as many books as I can get my hands on, I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoodsmedieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 


Sunday, November 5, 2017

Me in Twelve Pictures

Can a series of images provide a working avatar for a human life? Could I distill myself like an herb into some piquant essence? 

This might seem a little vain. I don't mean it to be. Rather it is an experiment in photo storytelling. The first iteration of this post included blurbs explaining each photo but I quickly realized that was counter to the premise. Instead I decided to allow imagery alone to weave my story. 

You could also view this as an invitation to get to know me. I want to know you too.

A tired adage posits that a picture is worth a thousand words. Perhaps my life warrants more than 12,000 of them. Or maybe most people would lose interest after a few hundred.

Here is a chapter book of images to articulate my life story and life philosophy.

Chapter 1: Pick a Dance Partner More Graceful Than You


Chapter 2: Surrender to Silly Faces



Chapter 3: Grow Competing Beards (and Happily Lose)



Chapter 4: Cool Off with Panache



Chapter 5: Let Some Air Under Your Hems



Chapter 6: Best Every Summit



Chapter 7: Whet Your Mind (And Never Pass Up a Good Cup of Coffee)



Chapter 8: Harmonize the Room



Chapter 9: Reap What You Sow



Chapter 10: Nap Appropriately



Chapter 11: Quench Parched Spirits



Chapter 12: Embrace the Storms


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This is a cop-out blog post. What writer abandons words for a few measly pictures? Not all of my posts are like this, I promise. Usually, I blog about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoodsmedieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 


Sunday, October 22, 2017

What Scares Me

Every year on October 31st, the world (or those in it that recognize such frivolous holidays) tries to frighten itself. Scary movies, ghost stories, spooky costumes, all part of the elaborate ruse designed to riff on one of the most primitive and powerful sensations in the human emotional lexicon: fear.

In honor of the approaching All Hallow's Eve, it's time to face my fears and blog about the things that scare me.

My Health
You might find this pumpkin or these bats scary. I don't.
I would face these guys any day over an awkward social function
Every time I get some strange new pain I'm convinced I'm dying. This is usually confirmed by Google when I plop my symptoms into their handy search bar. I figure Google employs some of the most brilliant people on the planet, so if they tell me I have a rare incurable disease, it must be true.

Flying Stinging Insects
Don't take this the wrong way, honeybees of the world, I really appreciate what you do for us. Pollination is pretty cool and all. But one of your kind (or any of your brethren like wasps or hornets) flying into my shirt and stabbing its thorax sword into my tender places is up there with a root canal and the stomach flu for things I don't want to experience today.

Awkward Social Constructs
The only thing worse than sitting awkwardly in a corner while people hurricane around you communicating freely and apparently enjoying themselves is when people notice you sitting awkwardly in the corner. I can get along with a surprising spectrum of people, but for inexplicable reasons I occasionally find myself turtling into a carapace of self-consciousness when thrust into certain social contexts.

My Imagination
Most of my fears are birthed exclusively from my overactive imagination. That rustle in the shadows was not some nefarious beast or bloodthirsty cacodemon. More likely it was a fluffy squirrel, more frightened of me than I of him. The echoes made by his tiny body were merely augmented into grotesque proportions by my own damn brain. 

Vanishing Global Intellect
It takes only a couple of laps through your favorite social media platform to understand exactly what I'm talking about. Forget mere spelling and grammar abominations, the tone of conversation in this 21st century has reached a new and disturbing ebb. Blame has been laid on so many parties: the internet, movies, video games and parents find themselves most often in the crosshairs. But the problem is too pandemic to stem from any singular source. What is there to be done? I suppose the only thing we can: combat this decline in yourself. Don't get your news from memes. Support science, arts, literature and education. Read books. Ban intellectual poisons from your diet and maybe we might have a chance.

The Most Terrifying Animal in the Animal Kingdom
I loved The Life of Pi and one of my favorite bits of imagery was early in the novel when Pi describes a display at his family's zoo, a curtain with a sign over it that read: "Do you know which is the most dangerous animal in the zoo?" Wondering what could possibly be worse than the lions and tigers and bears (oh my!) on display, people worked themselves into a nervous tizzy and ripped back the curtain with a gasp. What animal was revealed? A mirror. That's right. Humans are the most dangerous animal. No other creature in history (as far as we know) has been the author of a mass extinction (yes, scientists are now saying we are in the Holocene Extinction). We do amazing things, us humans. But we also commit some of the worst atrocities in world history and frankly that terrifies me.

A Mountain of Dirty Dishes
This might not look like much but for me it is the stuff of nightmares
Move over penicillin, rockets, the cotton gin, automobiles, the internet, and the wheel, clearly the dishwasher is the greatest invention in mankind's long history. There is nothing more loathsome then squaring off against a Mt. Everest of dirty, food-crusted plates, cups and silverware. Not only is handwashing dishes a smelly, unpleasant exercise in  futility, it sucks up precious hours of my day that could be spent doing other things, like writing blog posts about how much I hate doing dishes.

The Acceleration of Time
Each year the years get shorter. It's like some sneaky sociopath breaks into my life and pilfers precious minutes, or even hours, every day. Perhaps it is just a function of proportionality: as one ages, a month or a year becomes an increasingly smaller portion of his lifespan. I remember as a kid when a year passed like an eternity. I longed for milestones that approached at a sloth's pace: being 10, getting out of middle school, driving a car, turning 18. Now decades pass in a blink and I think back on things "just a little while ago" and realize they have drifted almost 15 years into my past. Can someone hit the brakes on this?

Typos
Nothing is worse for a writer trying to convince the ruthless world he's worthy than a typo. Well maybe a homonym error. No matter how many pages of semi-worthy writing I produce, vicious critics will write me off for a single lapse in concentration. A forgotten hyphen or a missing comma. Of course, I also scratch my head in wonderment at how such errors sneak into my work despite countless editorial pass-throughs. This is the most powerful of all my fears and hence lands here at the end of this terrifying blog post!

Cower in your closet terrified of ghosts and ghouls or innocuous monsters like bats and spiders if you want. I won't blame you. But come Halloween night, if a dreaded typo comes knocking at my door I'm calling the friggin' cops.
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If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not paralyzed in fear of everything from my own shadow to a dirty pan that housed last night's lasagna, I write about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph in a novel to giant redwoodsmedieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. You will get a once-a-week update on my blog posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 


Sunday, October 15, 2017

Five Books that Left Me Feeling Icky

A well-written novel is one that makes you feel something. But what if that something is discomfort? Disgust? Anxiety? Revulsion? Important books never shy away from tackling difficult subjects: repression, gender roles, crime, deceit, violence, tragedy. Occasionally, however, a book submerges me in such torrent of desolation I feel I'm drowning in its turbid waters.

There have been several books over the years that I literally shoved away when I reached the bottom of the last page. Whether it revealed something uncomfortable about society or some dark place inside my own mind, the book left an icky stain in its wake.

Here are five books that left me with this profound sense of dis-ease.

Gone Girl- Gillian Flynn (2012)
Gillian Flynn's 2012 blockbuster Gone Girl is a perfect example of a novel that left a gray cloud hanging even after it departed. The way Flynn manipulated my emotions to generate a sense of utter helplessness was an incredible feat of writing talent. Gone Girl made me genuinely fear meeting a true psychopath (and I mean a clinical psychopath, as this word is often tossed around incorrectly). But despite the uncomfortable nature of the story, I blasted through its 400+ pages like a meth addict: red-eyed and sleepless, twitching with compulsion when I was forced to put it down. I hated and loved every paragraph.

There is no doubting Flynn's skill. Gone Girl has an engaging narrative structure, riddled with twists and turns. The novel is a vortex that slurps readers into a macabre abyss where the monsters are real and the bottom is too dark to see. This psychological thriller is an exhilarating yet troublesome glimpse into the broken corners of the human mind. How well can you ever truly know a person? If you are married you might find yourself looking sidelong at your spouse as you pour through these pages.

The Handmaid's Tale- Margaret Atwood (1985)
Margaret Atwood's neo-classic The Handmaid's Tale unfolds the story of a dystopian society where women are subjugated by a ruthless patriarchy. It seems more relevant today than ever. As with Gone Girl, I battled a sense of helplessness throughout, which I suppose means Atwood succeeded in rendering a high degree of empathy for the main character. The Handmaid's Tale is disgusting, frightening, and its conclusion left me without a sense of true resolve to unwind the ugly tension that built as the story progressed.

Stylistically, the writing is brilliant. Atwood infuses literary qualities that have stymied critics from applying the damming "sci-fi" label. Instead, The Handmaid's Tale toes the line between genre and literary fiction, winning the 1986 Nebula Award and hitting the shortlist for the Booker Prize, one of the most coveted writing awards in the English language. When I reached the final pages, however, I found it hard to recommend The Handmaid's Tale to friends, instead I was mostly just glad it was over.

The Circle- Dave Eggers (2013)
Dave Eggers is a literary hero of mine and when I saw a book of his was being adapted into a film starring Tom Hanks and Hermoine (oh, I mean Emma Watson) I was intrigued. What I discovered, however, was a story that evoked many of the same discomforts I already possessed about the rapidly expanding role of social media in society. The Circle exists in a highly uncomfortable near-future dystopia that clearly reveals how compulsory participation in social media can devolve to a point where the digital record of an experience becomes more important than the experience itself. The sacred privacy we once cherished is now increasingly subjected to full public syndication.

Critics often compared this novel to Fahrenheit 451 or 1984 and for good reason. The Circle updates these classic stories but still echoes a familiar discomfort. The real-life rate in which technology and social media avenues like Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube are expanding lends chilling verisimilitude to the events in The Circle. I resent the way social media has altered the structure of friendship. Too often I feel compelled to make my rounds through Facebook just to keep my friends from accusing me of neglect. The modern invent of drones and compact cameras like GoPros have allowed your digital self to be broadcast from anywhere on the planet, from hundreds of fathoms beneath the surface of the ocean to the icy summit of Mt. Everest. No place is sacred. Every experience must be shared. The Circle left me queasy, wondering how far society will take this need to divulge even the most mundane moments of everyday life.

The Road- Cormac McCarthy (2006)
For those who haven't experienced a Cormac McCarthy novel, it is difficult to articulate the strangeness prevalent in every one. McCarthy oscillates between tongue-baffling run-on sentences to understated fragments like diminutive brush strokes. He drops mystifying vocabulary with casual elegance and renders impressionistic scenes that read like a Renoir painting. His novels are often suffused in explicit violence, hyper-masculinity and suffocating darkness that plumb the grim corners of the human condition. He is brilliant, yet I lurch between admiration and profound disgust for his work.

The Road is often considered McCarthy's magnum opus. It was the novel for which he won the 2007 Pulitzer Prize. The Road is set in the ashy, despairing aftermath of an apocalypse, the nature of which the reader never learns. A man and his son, who aren't given names, plod through this tragic landscape dodging cannibals, thieves, and the burden of their own grief. Like Gone Girl I became gruesomely addicted to The Road. I didn't want to eat or sleep. As I was immersed in McCarthy's sordid world, I grew paranoid of the people around me, wondering which might try to rob me or perhaps make a meal of my meaty limbs. When it was over, I was convinced Earth was thoroughly doomed. Should we ever come to such a place as found in The Road, I think I'd prefer to swan dive off Niagara Falls than linger like a revenant who hasn't quite realized the world and everything in it has died. To mine for something positive, I suppose The Road depicts man's perseverance in the face of the direst of circumstances. There is no doubt The Road is brilliant. Just don't expect a warm, cheery tale full of hope.

The Talented Mr. Ripley- Patricia Highsmith (1955)
It comes as no surprise that when Gone Girl came out, the New York Times Book Review labeled Gillian Flynn as a modern incarnation of Patricia Highsmith. The Talented Mr. Ripley is a psychological thriller in the same vein, one that gives you a glimpse into the paranoid, thoroughly diseased mind of a master at manipulation. As the main character's crimes spiral out of control, I, too, was drawn deeper and deeper into his storm. Every solution he forges leads to five more problems. But Tom Ripley is indeed talented, even if labeling his skill as "misapplied" is the understatement of the morning.

Deciding whether to empathize or deplore him was perhaps the main tension of the novel for me. By the time I was halfway deep I was thoroughly engaged, pulling for his deceptions and manipulations to succeed and terrified his incredible ruse would come to screeching and spectacular end. I found myself making excuses for him: he was forced into a chain of events beyond his control. He never meant for it to go so far. He was a train without breaks barreling on a downhill track. Deep down he really had good intentions. Ultimately, however, I was disgusted with myself for ever siding with him. What did that reveal about me? Did that mean that with the exact wrong circumstances I, too, could end up so terribly derailed? When the book was over I tossed it away and let the detritus of my life swallow it into its depths, hopefully forever. 

Final Thoughts

What is interesting about these novels, is that every single one of them were "page turners" for me, books I read while I ate, bathed, and brushed my teeth. I awoke from sleep eager to pick back up where I'd left off at 2 a.m. the night before. Though none of them left me blushing with praise, and I might even have said I hated some of them, they have all stuck with me through the years. Perhaps there is something about a novel like this, one that thrusts you so far out of your comfort zone you need a map to get back, that has a uniquely powerful effect on a reader. A primary goal for an author is to elicit a reaction. The stronger this reaction, it could be argued, the more effective the writing.

There are few responses as a reader more memorable and more powerful than discomfort, anguish and desolation.
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If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not reading books about psychopaths, I often write about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph to giant redwoodsmedieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading!

find us on facebook

All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 


Friday, September 29, 2017

A Slytherin? Really?

In a blog post a little while back, Twitter friend A.S. Akkalon discussed being sorted into Ravenclaw by the Pottermore website. In a comment, I proclaimed that I was also part of the Ravenclaw club. We congratulated each other's high degree of nerdom and moved on.

Why Ravenclaw you might ask? Well, frankly I'm not quite personable enough to be a Hufflepuff, not nearly brave enough to be a Gryffindor, and certainly not evil enough to be a Slytherin. Besides, "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" is a motto I could get behind any day.

If you aren't a fan of Harry Potter, this entire post will probably
seem like nonsense. I apologize in advance for that
As time went on, I was intrigued by the notion of being sorted. My declaration of belonging to Ravenclaw bore no official sanction. I was yet another in a sad line of "self sorters" who were, in fact, nothing more than pretenders.

What Potter fan hasn't wondered and even fantasized about what their time at Hogwarts would be like? Would I be a quidditch captain and seeker and end up in front of thousands of cheering witches and warlocks at the Quidditch World Cup? Would I be a troublemaker and romp the castle grounds, probing its every secret passage like Fred and George Weasley? Would I be a clever, clandestine wizard, poking through the restricted section of the library and creating innovative and original magic?

Knowing there was a website, and one officially sanctioned by J.K. Rowling which seemed to lend it some credence, that would actually sort me into my Hogwarts house, how could I resist? I found myself visiting Pottermore for the first time, greedy to discover something of my Hogwarts future.

So the sorting quiz began...

"Your worst nightmare consists of..." "Which animal would you bring to Hogwarts..." "You most want to be remembered as..." The questions rolled on. Though sometimes I found myself stuck between answers (if I interpret it like this I would answer ___ but if I interpret it like that I would answer ___), I provided the most honest answers possible.

Otis is black but he resents even the implication of evilness
At last I reached the final question: "Black or white?" Hmmm... But what does that mean? Historically black is (perhaps unfairly) correlated with evil, and white with good. From a personal style perspective, however, I am not a fan of white clothing. I am much too adventurous and prone to staining for anything lighter than a tan-ish shade of brown. My closet is lined with black t-shirts. I always wear black sunglasses. My dog is black and, unless I'm even a few minutes late feeding him dinner, it seems hard to label anything about him as evil.

This strangely vague question of black or white seemed laden with gravity, like my entire Hogwarts experience might hinge on simple semantic interpretation. If it was meant to be figurative, a stand-in for the moral condition of my soul, then of course I would choose white. I like to think of myself as a person of good-intentions. I always side with the hero, not the villain. But from a simple electromagnetic spectrum standpoint (and the three simple words in the question's phrasing gave no indication it was anything else) I would have to say black fits me better. 

After too-long deliberating, I chose black and reluctantly hit submit.

The quiz was complete. My Hogwarts schooling career was about to begin. The time had come to find out to which House I belonged.....

SLYTHERIN!!! The Sorting Hat projected into the Great Hall. What?!? How could?!? But I...

I was aghast. I was angry. I was ashamed. Such a torrent of emotion did I experience that I leapt to my feet and paced around my living room until the shock wore off. It had be wrong. There must be some mistake. Somebody hacked into my computer while I was halfway through and supplied some devious, misleading and inauthentic answers. But after a amount of time spent feeling angry and disenfranchised, I had to accept the truth:

The Sorting Hat's decision was final. Like it or not, I was a Slytherin.

My new family crest, I suppose. The evil-looking snake
does nothing to assuage my fear of how I will be
received by my Hogwarts colleagues. As a member
of another house, would you still be my friend?
I was stuck with a vision of myself, wary in the corner of the shadowy Slytherin common room, on the fringe of a pack of snaggletoothed Crabbe and Goyle lookalikes, trying not to draw attention while simultaneously trying not to look like I was trying not to draw attention. Somewhere nearby a Malfoy-figure was holding a gathering of the wizarding world's version of the Alt-right and I felt obliged to voice my occasional disingenuous agreement simply in order to ride my broom under the proverbial radar.

Perhaps, however, if while the Sorting Hat rested upon my head, magically penetrating parts of my mind I didn't even know existed, I should have implored it "Not in Slytherin. Not in Slytherin" and it would have taken enough pity on my cause to throw me in Ravenclaw anyway.

I was consoled somewhat by the letter from my new house welcoming me into the noble line of Slytherin. The great wizard Merlin, the letter informed me, was a Slytherin. This is good. I liked the Sword in the Stone. If we are talking about the same iteration of Merlin, I could potentially get behind that.

So do I have some hidden evil in me that the Pottermore Sorting Hat sensed that even I am unaware of? Or perhaps is it that Slytherin gets an unfair reputation based on a few bad examples? Or is it just a silly website and I shouldn't take it so seriously? I never actually put on the actual Sorting Hat, after all. This quiz that functions as a Sorting Hat stand-in surely is little more than a cheap imitation.

Despite this reasonable logic and my numerous appeals to the magical kingdom for justice, however, I had to accept that I was sorted as well as an American muggle can be.

I am a Slytherin.

NOTE: After this blog post was written, I returned to the Pottermore website, created a different account and re-took the sorting quiz and was sorted properly into Ravenclaw as I was supposed to be all along. But was this cheating? Actual Hogwarts entrants get no such second chances.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Monday, August 28, 2017

The Best Year in Years

Three-hundred and sixty-five little days. Is that all it’s been? It seems like a decade since my wife (Ella), dog (Otis) and I (Brian) left Colorado on this journey. 

Brian, Ella, and Otis
Having sunk roots in the same place more or less continuously for almost 20 years (and Ella for her whole life) we'd reached a point of stagnation, where our lives seemed hopelessly fixed.

We needed an adventure. 

Enter the travel nurse.

Being a nurse is probably a good career, but not for me. Any job where something called “sputum” has a chance of getting in my eyes is beyond my weak stomach. But Ella is good at it, and—at least on sputum-free days—seems generally to enjoy it.

One year ago today, Ella accepted a position as a travel nurse. We sold or stored almost everything we owned, crammed our lives into the space of a Toyota Rav4, and put rubber to pavement. We've been back only briefly since.

PART 1: The Mountains are Calling (Sun Valley, Idaho; 8/28/2016 to 12/23/2016)

We arrived in Idaho on a Sunday night and found ourselves in a wilderness of the strange: grocery chains we’d never heard of, references on the radio to people and places we didn’t understand. It was altogether novel and unsettling. But all-in-all the change was fresh and pleasing. I felt like I was at the brink of a discovery. 

The wilderness of Idaho near Sun Valley is amazing
Ella and Otis at one of so many lakes in the Idaho mountains
The first night in Idaho, we opted for a walk behind our new house. Otis was on edge, his tail erect, hackles raised and muzzle buried in every passing thicket. He exemplified what I felt: disoriented, anxious, and eager to learn this unknown landscape.

The next four months passed like a dream. 

Trails. Endless miles of serpentine paths gliding through alpine settings. There were so many that we hardly made a repeat footprint our entire stay. The Sun Valley area provided five mountain ranges in which to romp: the Smokies, the White Clouds, the Boulders, the Pioneers, and (most impressive of all) the Sawtooths. For alpine/mountaineering enthusiasts, it was paradise.

Hot Springs. Central Idaho is ripe with geothermal action. There is sublimity in lounging in a natural hot tub, soothing bubbles tickling up tired limbs as nature unfolds its splendor all around. Such moments are ineffable.

Snow. We skied four feet of fresh powder. These fluffy white heaps were miniature emulations of the grand mountains in which they formed. Snow fluttered, streaked or outright dumped from the sky right up to the hour we left.

When the time came to leave in December, we did so grudgingly. Our first experience living outside Colorado had proven that the world held options. There were so many places I hadn't seen and people I hadn't met. My only fear, as Idaho sunk in our rearview mirror, was if any destination after could favorably compare, or would everything after fall disappointingly short.

INTERLUDE 1: Christmas in Colorado (12/23/16 to 1/5/17)

Ignore the stress of gift buying and the pressure of fleeting morsels of time to every visiting friend and relative and the holidays are special. Family coalesces, forging memories that last a lifetime. We spent a white Christmas with our family back in Colorado, but it was doomed not to last. Our next destination was calling from over the horizon.

PART 2: Rain and Redwoods (Eureka, California; 1/5/17 to 4/24/17)

We arrived in California in the apogee of one of the worst storms in years. It was fitting that rain would usher us away three and a half months later.

We are small-town folk. While Eureka, California is a city of only 30,000, the outlying area of some 200,000 felt like a bustling metropolis compared to what we were used to. In Idaho our apartment stood in a sea of pine trees. At night we had to be cautious when walking out our door of close encounters with marauding wolves. Bugling elk sang us to sleep. In Eureka our apartment stood in sea of concrete. At night we had to be cautious when walking out our door of close encounters with meth-addled homeless. The thunder of truck engines sang us to sleep.

playing on the tallest and some of the oldest trees in the world
Playing on a redwood, the tallest trees in the world
This makes our time in Northern California sound all bad but it wasn't, not by a long shot. We lived for the first time beside the ocean, learning to glide back and forth with the tide. The musky perfume of the sea filled the air (when you stepped far enough from the urbane downtown to smell it). Waves collapsed with undulating thunder onto endless beaches. Rugged coasts and conical sea stacks provided roosts for squawking birds, and (best of all) we were surrounded by a forest of the world’s tallest trees. There were many magical moments in this novel environment. While Idaho had been like an variation of Colorado, California was something different altogether.

One of Life's Forks

Alas, three months passed as they always do (quickly) and the time came to decide on our next destination. We stood at one of those proverbial forks.

Ella was offered a travel position in Santa Barbara, California, a beautiful ocean-side city known for exquisite beaches and a vibrant economy. But on a whim Ella had a applied for a full-time, year round position in Seward, Alaska, a tiny town embedded in the rugged Alaskan mountains. We had always wanted to live in the far north. Neither of us had expected to hear back from Seward, but one day, after she'd already accepted the position in Santa Barbara, the call came:

We were wanted. In Alaska.

The choice could be distilled to this: Santa Barbara would be easy. Housing would be found and paid for for us. It was a short, three-month commitment. But although it was a beautiful place, Santa Barbara was not our dreamland. In many ways it was not much different from where we had just been. Seward, on the other hand, would be rugged, committing, and far from our families. Contracts would stipulate we had to spend a full year at least. It was risky. We would be on our own. But Alaska had been a dream of ours and this was our chance. The biggest thing holding us back was our fear to take a risk. And that is never a good reason not to do anything. 

Alaska...we are coming.

INTERLUDE 2: The Great Road Trip (4/24/2017 to 5/11/2017)

The memories of our 18-day journey from California to Alaska will always be fond. The Oregon coast. Washington's Olympic Peninsula. Seattle. The Inside Passage. The Yukon. So many amazing places, all of which entirely new. As I detailed much of this trip in an earlier blog post, I won’t go too deeply into the story. We saw some of the most beautiful sights the western United States had to offer. This road trip was a journey within a larger journey. It was the type of adventure I will recall fondly for decades. It was, however, only a prelude to what is likely the climax of this life-altering (and ongoing) bildungsroman.

PART 3: The Last Frontier (Seward, Alaska; 5/11/2017 to ?)

Alaska mountains and ocean in one sight
The boat harbor in Seward, Alaska. This is nearly 2,300
miles from Glenwood Springs, Colorado as the eagle
flies
Alaska takes its official nickname “The Last Frontier” for a reason. Much of the state is brutally rugged and remote. Wildlife exists much as it always has. Blue glaciers tumble from cuspid mountains. Moose and brown bears plod across hundreds of miles of unfettered wildlands oblivious to the trials of the modern world. In terms of size, Alaska would swallow the United Kingdom, France and Germany combined, yet is home to a mere 700,000 people. 

In a sense, Idaho and California were merely training. The sparse wilderness of central Idaho provided a functioning warm-up for the behemoth scale of Alaska. The coast of Northern California acclimated us to the rhythm of the ocean.

After three and a half months here now (roughly the same amount of time we spent in both California and Idaho), Alaska had proven to be everything we hoped and more. I understand the addiction of this place. Life at the edge of the map has a way of reminding you that you are alive. It is a slice of a time long past.

I am excited to experience the full cycle of a year in this place and learn the lessons it is willing to teach.

FINAL THOUGHTS

As the eagle flies we are 2,288 miles from where we started. We are our past selves, and we are not. I imagine myself a year ago and I picture someone cloistered and naïve. I see a truck spinning its wheels in the quagmire. I was halfway up a mountain stranded on a narrow ledge. Above it was too steep to climb and below too risky to retreat. This year was the foil, the glider that lifted me away. Circling in the sky, I think I understand that this mountain has always had many faces, and infinite variations to the top.

I have come to think of this long adventure as “the Search for Home.” The whole point, after all, was finding the place to settle down. Buy a house, start a family. Where will this home be? Idaho? California? Colorado? Alaska? Somewhere else? The question lingers….

For now, there can be no doubt: it was the best year in years.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions