By now, everyone should have Sirenia Digest #24. But, if by some miscalculation or unfathomable whim of the world wide web (and really, that ought to be world-wide web), you haven't yet recieved it, simply email Spooky at crk_books(at)yahoo(dot)com. She'll make it right. I think that "The Wolf Who Cried Girl" is possibly one the the most personal stories I've written in some time, certainly since "Salammbô Redux" (though, as Spooky pointed out to me, they are personal for rather different reasons).
Yesterday, well, I worked on Tails of Tales of Pain and Wonder, theFREE chapbook to accompany the new edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. I will spend today and tomorrow finishing with the editing on the chapbook, then it's back to Joey Lafaye. Oh, yesterday's post brought me a DVD from Emma Davie at BBC Scotland, the episode of The Culture Show with my interview.
A good and timely question yesterday, from Nowell by way of MySpace:
You've discussed making changes to your previously published work quite a bit in the past month(s). How much are you changing details versus simply making editorial corrections to grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc? I am particularly interested in the changes to Silk for the third (?) edition? While novels like Low Red Moon and Daughter of Hounds are great, as well, Silk seems interesting to teach because it deals so directly with the young, the disenfranchised, and the working poor. Threshold does this, too, to some extent, but some of this focus seems to have faded from the latter novels as characters are more aligned with graduate school, the supernatural, or professional jobs. This isn't meant as criticism, just something that seems to have happened (maybe you won't agree that this has happened?).
I agree, there has been a shift in my novels, away from the sorts of characters who were the focus of books like Silk and Tales of Pain and Wonder. I wrote Silk in my late twenties and early thirties, and a lot of it was me writing about personal experiences and people I'd known in my teens and twenties. And there was only so much I had to say about those things, and I think I pretty much wrote it all out a long time ago (a lot of it also went into The Dreaming). As for the recent editing, it has varied from book to book. A lot of it has been for grammar and continuity errors and suchlike, but there has also been quite a bit of stylistic editing. Re-reading Silk, I could no longer "hear" the voice it was written in, and what once seemed poetic to me had become too often jangling. So, I toned down the impressionism, you might say, and made the sentence structure somewhat more standard. I'm still not sure if this was the "right" thing to do, but it's what I've chosen to do. Of all the books, Silk has been most heavily "revised," with Threshold in second place. By comparison, Low Red Moon and Murder of Angels were edited hardly at all for the new (or, in the case of MoA, forthcoming) mass-market paperback editions. This is, I suspect simply because I've become a better writer over the last decade, the period spanned by these novels, so the more recent the book, the happier I was with it. I hope that makes some sort of sense, as I have not yet had coffee or alcohol. Also, nowhere have I made any significant changes to character or plot.
Last night, Byron joined us at our favourite Thai restaurant, and then the three of us came back here and watched Brad Bird and Jan Pinkava's Ratatouille. It's really a wonderful film and has been added to my "best of 2007" list. I'm quite certain it's the overall best film that Pixar has released thus far, and was sorry we didn't see it in a theatre. I was especially pleased with the following bit of dialogue from food critic Anton Ego (voiced with perfection by Peter O'Toole):
In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.
This is, I think, an utterly brilliant bit of commentary on criticism, whether one is talking about cooking, books, film, or what have you. Anyway, yes, a wonderful film.
Today is the beginning of the 2007 Jethro Tull season. I began it late this year, so that I might reap the full benefits during the bleak December that lies ahead of me. And bleak it shall be, I have no doubt.
Yesterday, well, I worked on Tails of Tales of Pain and Wonder, the
A good and timely question yesterday, from Nowell by way of MySpace:
You've discussed making changes to your previously published work quite a bit in the past month(s). How much are you changing details versus simply making editorial corrections to grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc? I am particularly interested in the changes to Silk for the third (?) edition? While novels like Low Red Moon and Daughter of Hounds are great, as well, Silk seems interesting to teach because it deals so directly with the young, the disenfranchised, and the working poor. Threshold does this, too, to some extent, but some of this focus seems to have faded from the latter novels as characters are more aligned with graduate school, the supernatural, or professional jobs. This isn't meant as criticism, just something that seems to have happened (maybe you won't agree that this has happened?).
I agree, there has been a shift in my novels, away from the sorts of characters who were the focus of books like Silk and Tales of Pain and Wonder. I wrote Silk in my late twenties and early thirties, and a lot of it was me writing about personal experiences and people I'd known in my teens and twenties. And there was only so much I had to say about those things, and I think I pretty much wrote it all out a long time ago (a lot of it also went into The Dreaming). As for the recent editing, it has varied from book to book. A lot of it has been for grammar and continuity errors and suchlike, but there has also been quite a bit of stylistic editing. Re-reading Silk, I could no longer "hear" the voice it was written in, and what once seemed poetic to me had become too often jangling. So, I toned down the impressionism, you might say, and made the sentence structure somewhat more standard. I'm still not sure if this was the "right" thing to do, but it's what I've chosen to do. Of all the books, Silk has been most heavily "revised," with Threshold in second place. By comparison, Low Red Moon and Murder of Angels were edited hardly at all for the new (or, in the case of MoA, forthcoming) mass-market paperback editions. This is, I suspect simply because I've become a better writer over the last decade, the period spanned by these novels, so the more recent the book, the happier I was with it. I hope that makes some sort of sense, as I have not yet had coffee or alcohol. Also, nowhere have I made any significant changes to character or plot.
Last night, Byron joined us at our favourite Thai restaurant, and then the three of us came back here and watched Brad Bird and Jan Pinkava's Ratatouille. It's really a wonderful film and has been added to my "best of 2007" list. I'm quite certain it's the overall best film that Pixar has released thus far, and was sorry we didn't see it in a theatre. I was especially pleased with the following bit of dialogue from food critic Anton Ego (voiced with perfection by Peter O'Toole):
In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.
This is, I think, an utterly brilliant bit of commentary on criticism, whether one is talking about cooking, books, film, or what have you. Anyway, yes, a wonderful film.
Today is the beginning of the 2007 Jethro Tull season. I began it late this year, so that I might reap the full benefits during the bleak December that lies ahead of me. And bleak it shall be, I have no doubt.
- Current Location:Panchaia Rupes
- Current Mood:
productive - Current Music:Jethro Tull, "Skating Away"
Page Summary
Comments
- 25 Mar 2023, 12:08One consideration is that an author's photo current at the time the book was written makes an interesting accompaniment to a given edition.
- 17 Mar 2023, 02:21Jack Black's performance is so close to working in so many of his scenes that you can see why they brought him on, but ultimately nothing about his performance works. And I feel like there was…
- 13 Mar 2023, 22:16Tár should have taken away something, though that it didn't feels amusingly of a piece with its darkly comic denouement so I can't be too mad
- 24 Feb 2023, 22:14Hopefully, the weather is more fitting tomorrow.
- 21 Feb 2023, 22:39I saw this take on twitter about the Dahl thing that I more or less agree with. Sadly Dahl isn't just Dahl's work any more. Roald Dahl is a multimillion dollar brand cynically managed by an estate…
Comments
Indeed, though I'd be surprised ever to hear an actual critic utter it. :)
One of the thing that bothers me about much of contemporary criticism is its inherent dishonesty. From Harold Bloom onward, if not earlier (I'm no expert), it seems like literature, music, art, etc. have been taken as merely the raw material of criticism, less as subjects worthy of interpretation. And, theoretically at least, that's what criticism once did. It's so irritating to go for an interesting-sounding article about the work of an author you enjoy, and then find out that it's actually a piece of postmodern swill that has little or nothing to do with the work itself.
It's very beautiful and sweet. It brought to mind some images of the wolf girl from In the Company of Wolves, though your story had its own beauty. You conveyed the sense of a dysphoric perspective very well, for both sadness, particularly at the beginning, and a sort of beauty I usually only see in descriptions of characters in your novels--the girl thinking about the H and the C on the sink was particularly cute, if I dare venture using the word. I really found myself loving the girl and hoping she lives happily in that apartment.
But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.
Heh. Well, don't I feel terrific having stayed up all night writing an analysis of The Shining.
But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.
Eh. I can't agree with this part. Negative reviews are indeed fun, which alone can make them more meaningful than the piece of junk I'll never see, and pieces of junk aren't always seen more than the review.
I think reviews can be valuable when the great work of art isn't new or overlooked. They can point out things to you you might have missed in the movie or book, or they can offer a new perspective on an old favourite that adds a new flavour to the next viewing. If the idea is for the movie to play the audience like a piano, as Hitchcock said, then a good, honest critic is a way of gauging a tune produced.
I'm very pleased you liked "The Wolf Who Cried Girl."
Eh. I can't agree with this part. Negative reviews are indeed fun, which alone can make them more meaningful than the piece of junk I'll never see, and pieces of junk aren't always seen more than the review.
For my part, I've always said that even the worst art is better than criticism of the worst art. The worst art may at least arise from an honest passion to create, rather than the self-righteous ease of merely mocking and ticking off obvious failures.
Then again, it might not.
rather than the self-righteous ease of merely mocking and ticking off obvious failures.
As a fan of Mystery Science Theatre 3000, I can't say I'm not to some extent guilty of appreciating that kind of criticism (though in the case of MST3k, I think there's some affection involved, too). But not all negative criticism is like that. Some reviews lament the absence of the passion you refer to, and lament lost opportunities. Like Roger Ebert's review of Fred Claus. There's one scene he found to be genuinely funny, but the rest he found sort of soulless. As he put it, "The movie wants to be good-hearted but is somehow sort of grudging. It should have gone all the way."
Edited at 2007-12-01 08:50 pm (UTC)
That reminds me of Shawn Levy's review of that Curious George movie; he noted how the plot of the movie didn't really need the title character to work, as it's much more focused on The Man In The Hat, and Levy wondered if a much better Curious George movie could've been done that focused far more on George and was done more like a Buster Keaton film. And I thought that was a lovely idea. Do an almost-silent movie! That would've been bold, and closer to the spirit of the original Curious George books.
(I'm fond of George. My nephew Rob absolutely loves George, so I hope to keep giving him more old-school Curious George stuff than the movie- and TV show-related stuff. But I digress.)
And of course Harlan Ellison is great at making points like that when he reviews movies, as he can approach the reviewing from the POV of someone who's actually worked on movies. I'm flashing on his review of the first Star Trek film, as he'd followed the turbulent production that led to it not being as bold a film as he'd hoped it could be. (Hey, Cait, did Ellison commiserate with you over frustrating treatment by Paramount? That's one thing you two now have in common.)
That's pretty much why I kind of liked the slapstick business in the second Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Though that sort of thing will never have the same punch as Keaton actually doing everything for real.
Then again, it might not.
Hence, I said "may."
So would you agree that in those cases where a bad movie is made without passion the bad review might actually be a better experience?
So would you agree that in those cases where a bad movie is made without passion the bad review might actually be a better experience?
Who says they were made without passion? Bad art often arises from passion. Case in point, Ed Wood.
For that matter, I would agree that negative reviews also arise from a different sort of passion. I have been guilty of it myself.
Er, you did, just now.
Bad art often arises from passion. Case in point, Ed Wood.
Oh, I absolutely agree. I've very passionately made some bad art myself.
For that matter, I would agree that negative reviews also arise from a different sort of passion.
I agree on that account, too. Most of Roger Eberts reviews seem to me to come from a passionate love for movies and when he dislikes one, he usually seems to be genuinely unhappy he didn't love the experience. Though maybe you're referring to the passion of snark, which I would also agree exists.
It exists, and, I believe, it predominates.
Er, you did, just now.
Strictly speaking, I did not.
I suppose not. I took the statement that bad movies may be made with passion to mean that bad movies may also not be made with passion. If that's not what you meant, what did you mean?
In another kettle of worms, do you believe good art can be made without passion?
Then again, maybe that's a moot point considering O'Toole's character was talking about the average piece of junk. I'd argue that, in terms of modern movies, passion is often squashed by the studio's insistence that a movie adhere to certain money making formulae. The best movies are the ones that tend to make an end run around the capitalist instinct.
But in terms of cooking, I think it's far less likely for a disliked recipe to exist for very long. Though, on the same token, a critique of that recipe would also have very short-lived relevance.
Er, I mean The Company of Wolves, of course. Apparently I have a better memory for images than I do for titles . . .
The last few years have been hard (understatement) for me and the story has brought all the loss and the grief I have been stuffing down and choking on out to where I am now forced to admit their ugly existence.
Damn, I love it when a writer takes me from the "gosh, that's a good story" to the "shit, my heart is breaking."
Cait, you done broke my heart...
Cait, you done broke my heart...
That is the kindest compliment you could have paid me. Thank you.
At least every other issue of Sirenia, I read what I think is one of your best stories yet. "The Wolf Who Cried Girl" is one of these.
This is, I think, an utterly brilliant bit of commentary on criticism, whether one is talking about cooking, books, film, or what have you.
It's an incredibly wonderful film, and that speech—both for what it says and its simple existence—might have been what cemented my love for it. Also, Peter O'Toole.
At least every other issue of Sirenia, I read what I think is one of your best stories yet. "The Wolf Who Cried Girl" is one of these.
And I am particularly glad you thought so. :-)