Hmmm....I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with this much Star Wars

     For some reason...and I'm not blaming (or crediting) this for the enduring neglect the blog is suffering...I have been reading more than a proportionately responsible amount of Star Wars fiction this year. 
     There were the graphic novels (Dark Empire I & II) I read in late March and early April.  Those reminded me of how Star Wars had a tendency to want to keep revisiting the same story with the same characters because killing any of them off – God forbid Boba Fett stays dead in the Sarlac pit – would apparently anger the fans more than middling stories.  But I also have read the Star Wars meets zombies Star Wars: Red Harvest, Star Wars: The Wrath of Darth Maul, and Star Wars: Iron Fist as part of this year's Reading Project.  Still have Star Wars: Solo Command to go to finally finish off the Wraith Squadron books.  I'm not sure if I'll ever read Stackpole's X-Wing books; it would be damning not to, since I did read his novelization of the recent Conan the Barbarian (2011) movie.
     Anyway, as I find myself struggling with my own satisfaction of the fantasy and horror short stories I'm trying to write (and why can't I ever consider something finished?), I must note that it is odd that I am plinking away at the huge Star Wars catalog of books.

The Best Ten-Minute Plays 2008 for Three or More Actors (2008)

     There are a number of things I learned from reading the two collections of Ten-Minute (or less in most cases).  The most obvious one was that I am an unreasonably harsh critic.  These are plays that have been, for the most part, produced and performed in front of live people, likely ones who paid for the show, and I found myself comparing them – and not in a particularly favorable light – to the plays written by fellow students from my high school and college days.  Why aren't they great if they are the best from a particular year (or from a limited range of years)?  But, if I can step back and acknowledge that I look at some acclaimed masterpieces and find a multitude of faults and failings in them, then I need to adjust my expectations.
     I think a major problem I have is that I have an intense desire for playwrights to not rely on the conventions of the art, but I also get agitated when playwrights break away from them completely.  Somewhere, undoubtedly, there is a happy medium, but it is likely too small for most authors to locate.  I need to find it within myself to be more accepting of the works that the more knowledgeable – at least in terms of selecting material – and simply find a way to address what did and did not work for me rather than judging whether the plays are any good at all.
     Another important lesson learned is that it is nearly impossible to tell a complete story in a ten-minute play.  While there was a statement that these plays would be more than scenes, that is how many felt; some seemed to be little more than sketches with larger aspirations.  Worse, because there isn't a sense of totality, many of them leave no lasting impression.  Still, there is a similarity between the short story and the (extremely) short play – one cannot read a lot of them at once without feeling burned out.  In that case, it doesn't matter if they are good or bad.  And it is here that it makes me marvel at the stamina of the teachers who have to wade through the much worse writing of students with great frequency.
    At any rate, I finished The Best Ten-Minute Plays 2008 for Three of More Actors first because it just had to be back at the library shortly after check out.  For some reason, the effort to renew it gained a single day of leeway.  Even more interesting, more than two weeks after it had been returned, a fine appeared for returning it late.  Except that it wasn't returned late.  And if it were, that fine would have shown up immediately.  My take away from this is that it is a cursed book (or at least the local copy is); check it out at your own risk.
     The book opens up with Kathleen Warnock's The Adventures of..., and despite it having the hints of coming from an honest place it tried to hard to have a clever ending to break up the obvious progression along the way.  George Freek's Antarctica actually bothered me because it was neither funny nor clever, and I was quite positive that both were intended.  Ian August's How to Survive in Corporate America (A Manual in Eight Steps) was entertaining, but it read like one of the fantasy sequence instructional films from That '70s Show (1998-2006) – and given that I have seen less than ¼ of the episodes, I'm somewhat amazed that this is the association I made while reading it.
     Things get a little better with In the Trap by Carl L. Williams.  While embracing quite a few of the conventions of a modern comedic play (it could be argued that it is an overgrown sketch that cared enough to give the characters some definition), it tries to have a point without insisting that it is making a point.  There is something refreshing about the self-defeating protagonist who makes good only in minor steps, and those are motivated by the petty concerns that we often try to dress up as noble – and he makes no effort to do as much.
     Then things bottom out with Moon Man by Jami Brandli.  It is ponderous.  It is pretentious without having any possible foundation for being so.  Worst of all, it refuses to have anything to say other than that people can be lonely.  This play may appeal to some, but I found it to be a waste of time.  More to the point, I think it provides no roles that an actor should be excited about performing.
     Mark Larmbeck's October People is not quite a whole play (though it is the one depicted on the cover of the book).  Instead, it feels like a scene whittled down from a larger story with a character deposited in to keep the characters from reaching any kind of quick, reasonable resolution to their relationship.  It is rather well written, but it feels like an insiders look at the world in which actors (and people who rely on the entertainment industry) live.  That is a convention that I think doesn't translates well outside of (the North American) hubs like Los Angeles, New York, Vancouver, or Toronto. 
     The Other Shoe by Lisa Soland wasn't poorly written, but it seemed too desperate to make its point.  I would argue that if one is writing a short play, it shouldn't be overly concerned with addressing the author's agenda.  Instead, it should be primarily concerned with making sure that a complete story is told in the limited time afforded it.  This is something that Paola Soto Hornbuckle got right in The Perfect Red.  It feels like a complete story – and is the the only play in the collection to have multiple scenes.  It is also surprisingly dark, yet at the same time it manages to be accessible to a general audience.  I would not imagine that many people would stage it because it does require better than modest production values but does not run long enough to justify it being the only play running on the stage.  But there is something to it.
     Gina Gionfriddo's Squalor was more than a little weird, but it still works as a brief play.  It was extremely contemporary in its references, but while that is impressive if it is produced immediately, it also serves to date it.  It did have some rather good lines that showcase Gionfriddo's ability to bring wit and levity to a play without defusing the progression of the story.  My favorites are:
          Marnie: "Quit?  You think this is hamburgers and hair appointments? 
          You can't quit a war."
          Mike: "I'm thirsty and I have a dick." (Trust me, it has real meaning
          in context.)
     Don Nigro's Three Turkeys Waiting for Corncobs is one of those plays that really relies on the conventions, especially the off-beat ones, of the modern play.  It is actively trying to be quirky, and that is something that I am not sure that I know how to comes to terms with.  I guess it is kind of funny, but in a way that doesn't seem to offer anything new while simultaneously not being something that has been done with any frequency.  No, when it comes to something that has been done before one doesn't need to go further than To Darfur by Erik Christian Hanson.  Equating small-mindedness with being a Southerner and/or a Republican – which while not a being an argument without merit, it is not really a fact – is old hat.  And there is nothing much more going on for To Darfur, even in terms of being entertaining.
     Nora Chau's Whatever Happened to Finger Painting, Animal Crackers, and Afternoon Naps? has a slight absurdist edge to it and has some fun with WASP-y conflicts, but it is both too short and too in love with itself to really be considered a full piece.  At least it is better than The Answer, which felt like a writing exercise that tried to use play conventions to mask the lack of original story.  
     Larry Hamm impressed me with Do-Overs, but more because it felt like a cross between something I co-authored (Call Me Temujin) and Richard A. Knaak's Dutchman (1996).  It is the story of two souls that keep finding each other over many incarnations, while a third soul – one that has not had a single life under its belt – tries to gauge expectations of life and love from their revelations.  It is clever, and perhaps even slightly sappy, but it also feels like it manages to get a full story told in its brief time.  It is immediately followed by Gloom, Doom, and Soul-Crushing Misery by Robin Rice Lichtig, a play where the single distinguishing feature is having the Travelocity gnome shoved up someone's ass.  It is the opposite of clever and smart, so I assume that it must look much better when performed than it reads.  At least it didn't read like a piece of mediocre high school writing, which is how Chris Shaw Swanson's The Growth came off.  Even in trying to be more positive in my evaluations of these pieces, there is nothing about The Growth that speaks towards professional level writing or the concept of subtlety.  
     Patrick Gabridge's Measuring Matthew is another effort to put a character with Asperger's Syndrome into a story.  This has become quite common in the last ten years, or at least very noticeable.  From Sheldon Cooper on The Big Bang Theory (2007–present) to Abed Nadir on Community (2009–present) to Max Braverman on Parenthood (2010–present) to Wally Stevens (as played by Mark Linn Baker in 2003) on Law & Order: Criminal Intent (2001-2011), there is an unhealthy fascination with the fascination characters with Asperger's have with seemingly trivial, non-standard subjects.  I find it tiresome, in part because there is seldom an examination of what the condition actually is.  Also, because there is almost always an indulgence of the behaviors of the characters so as to not challenge the established order.
     Night Terrors manages to undue most of its solid writing and existential examination simply by having the third role be largely inaccessible.  It is leaps and bounds better then Zachary Zwillinger Eats People, which combines poor grammar (and not in a purposeful manner to establish character) and never stops being preachy.  The best advice I have seen on the subject is that if an author wants to be preachy, write either an essay or a sermon.
     The collection gets better with a pair plays where the single point may just be that cynicism can win out.  The Baby War by Laura Cotton tells the story of the fight over the future of an illegitimate child between the well-to-do and the merely middle class.  It also manages some sly criticism of consumerism reinforced through reality television.  It also has the following exchange (where Carolyn is April’s mother and Patricia is the mother of the boy who got April pregnant):
          Patricia: You see, I’ve decided that I can’t allow April to have 
          an abortion.  
          April: I wasn’t planning on having an abortion.  
          Patricia: Of course you were.   
          April: No, I wasn’t.  
          Carolyn: Are you sure, honey?  You could have just a tiny one.   
          April: A tiny abortion?  What, are you out of your mind?
It is far better than most of the dialogue present in the book.  Thankfully, it is followed by the just-as-cynical but darker Sexual Perversity in Connecticut by Mike Folie.  Finding some proper balance between honoring and sending-up Mamet and exaggerating WASP-y catfighting, it manages to be wry without ever tripping over into the ridiculous.  And it serves as a good reminder to keep an eye out for the babysitters who become whores.
     Sister Snell isn't bad, but it tries to be witty at all times and feels far too short for the scope of story that could have been told.  It isn't bad, but I feel that it would have been better served to be developed into a longer piece.  As it stands, it resembles more of a well-written sketch.
     Much different is Vanessa David's Current Season.  It resembles the play about turkeys in that it calls for a trio of actors to play at being animals, in this case light-up reindeer decorations.  Still, it has a quirky charm, as one of the most inappropriate lines (at least out of context) I've seen in a long while.  
          Prancer: "If being in homosexual positions brings holiday cheer to
          the people, then I'm all for it.  Bring on the kids."
     Intervention is a play revolving around a one-note joke, one that is obvious by page two, doesn't get said until page six, and then is hammered home for another whole page.  It is an example of something obvious being mistaken for something clever, an insight the common person has never made.  The end result is a tedious reading experience that I guess could only be worse when seen in person.
     Jerome Parisse's Guys, Only Guys! manages to get the one-joke story structure right.  While probably better served as being a tighter comedy sketch, it is a funny brief play that successfully establishes characters and a story.  While the twist of an ending may be obvious, it doesn't feel like it has been coming since the characters show up; personally, I think it strikes the right balance of being novel and not so 'out there' as to alienate an audience.  Strangely, Parisse's The Birthday Knife reads as an extremely creepy experience.  It feels like there is a very real threat to the main character, and because of this any humor otherwise in the story is drained away.  It is definitely the weaker of his two efforts here.
     When I wrote about some of the plays requiring as much production work as a full-length play, I may have been most specifically thinking of Mark Harvey Levine's Cabfare for the Common Man.  This is made more lamentable because Cabfare is full of labored metaphors and imagery.  The only point is has to make is that one doesn't really go through life alone, with the addendum that the right person can be found.  In what universe is that profound?  Or even true?  Where is the story for the truly miserable, how life is an unbearable series of lonely experiences where the people who leave you are the ones who are not destined to go through life alone?  (I am going to come right out and admit I would probably have criticized that story, too, if it were as sloppily conceived as Levine's.)  He has a much better piece with A Case of Anxiety.  With an Inspector that begs the performer to overact as much as possible and repetitions that propel the story forward, it is the darker story he was afraid to tell with Cabfare.  It is still a little too sunny, but has quite possibly the best instructions for how to introduce a gorilla into a play:
          (Robert opens the door to let the Inspector out and is 
          immediately attacked by a giant gorilla who bursts into 
          the apartment. [If you can’t find a gorilla with an Equity 
          card, someone in a gorilla suit, a particularly large and 
          hairy actor will do the trick.] The gorilla picks up Robert 
          and tosses him around.)]
     The collection closes with Lisa Loomer's Fear of Spheres.  I didn't get it.  Not even a little.  It appears to be a play that would be fun to perform, but if it doesn't mean anything then what's the point? 
     All in all, I think there were enough well written pieces to make the book worth reading, but I will question what makes these plays the best of those available for consideration.  I would also wager that thirty is too large a sample for those who actually want to read through the plays.  Sure, it is better for those who are looking for material to produce, but that is well beyond my scope or interest.

▸          The Adventures of... by Kathleen Warnock (2006)

▸          Antarctica by George Freek (2008)

▸          How to Survive in Corporate America (A Manual in Eight Steps) by Ian August (2008)

▸          In the Trap by Carl L. Williams (2007)

▸          Moon Man by Jami Brandli (2007)

▸          October People by Mark Larmbeck (2007)

▸          The Other Show by Lisa Soland (2008)

▸          The Perfect Red by Paola Soto Hornbuckle (2007)

▸          Squalor by Gina Gionfriddo (2007)

▸          Three Turkeys Waiting for Corncobs by Don Nigro (2008)

▸          To Darfur by Erik Christian Hanson (007)

▸          Whatever Happened to Finger Painting, Animal Crackers, and Afternoon Naps? By Nora Chau (2007)

▸          The Answer by Vanessa David (2008)

▸          Do-Overs by Larry Hamm (2007)

▸          Gloom, Doom, and Soul-Crushing Misery by Robin Rice Lichtig (2007)

▸          The Growth by Chris Shaw Swanson (2007)

▸          Measuring Matthew by Patrick Gabridge (2004)

▸          Night Terrors by Wendy MacLeod (2007)

▸          Zachary Zwillinger Eats People by Lauren D. Yee (2007)

▸          The Baby War by Laura Cotton (2007)

▸          Sexual Perversity in Connecticut by Mike Folie (2007)

▸          Sister Snell by Mark Troy (2002)

▸          Current Season by Vanessa David (2007)

▸          The Title Fight by Ian August (2006)

▸          Intervention by Mark Lambeck (2007)

▸          Guys, Only Guys! by Jerome Parisse (2008)

▸          The Birthday Knife by Jerome Parisse (2007)

▸          Cabfare for the Common Man by Mark Harvey Levine (2005)

▸          A Case of Anxiety by Mark Harvey Levine (2006) 

▸          Fear of Spheres by Lisa Loomer (2008)

Writing Popular Fiction (1974)

     A lot has changed since the mid-1970s, especially if one is writing about that period while still cognizant of the lingering impact of the late-1960s.  It would be wrong to think that the market for fiction is anywhere near the same.  While the shift is likely less jarring than the pre- to post-Hemingway era of American literature, genre fiction – the subject of Dean R. Koontz's Writing Popular Fiction (1974) – one must consider how different the world is the more recent now.
     Koontz was writing about a world where Peter Benchley's Jaws was just released as a book and had not become the first modern blockbuster.  George Lucas had made two films at that point, THX 1138 (1971) and American Graffiti (1973); there was no such thing as Star Wars (1977).  Star Trek (1966-69) was a show that had a decent run on network television and had not yet emerged as a presence in syndication.  The use of vampires in successful fiction wouldn't emerge until Stephen King penned 'Salem's Lot in 1975, and it would not be until Anne Rice brought the sexy vampire back with Interview with a Vampire (1976) that the undead got to be in something more than a sub-category of the horror genre.  Cable television had been around for 25 years but was still something more common in remote rural areas than the sameness of suburbia.  Satellite television existed; it had its first single purpose satellite launched in '74.  The personal computer was effectively unknown.  The VCR existed, but was extremely expensive.  It wouldn't be until 1975 that Betamax came on the scene and allowed for the average person to record broadcast television or watch movies at home at one's leisure.  Hell, print magazines were still a major and viable outlet for a writer to submit fiction.
     Koontz lists seven categories of genre fiction: Science Fiction, Fantasy, Suspense, Mysteries, Gothic-Romance, Westerns, and Erotica.  I would argue that Sci-Fi (wildly expanded over what it was by the mid-1970s, for better or worse), Fantasy, Suspense (still very strong), Mystery (Koontz writes about the more traditional, Agatha Christie style mystery, which has been superseded by a more active plot structure since the early 1990s at least), Gothic-Romance (this is a chaste kind of romance, part Brontë sisters' young girl sent off to live in a strange house and long for the unobtainable man, part supernatural mystery; my understanding is that this market died before the 1970s were over), Westerns (another genre that has widely gone by the wayside; it takes a very well-written book to garner any attention beyond people who go purposely looking for a Western; however, the more modern Western follows a much different plot structure where a man can be a man instead of a slave to the modern world), and Erotica (Koontz divides this category into the Big Sexy Novel and the Rough Sexy Novel; the former category includes everything from the bodice-ripper romance novels of the 1980s and 1990s to the sex-filled stories of Jacquelin Suzanne or Harold Robbins, and even more, while Rough Sexy is effectively porn).  To his credit, I think that Koontz did a fantastic job of delineating the categories and his understanding of them.  I could not think of a kind of genre fiction that would not fit in these groups (though as noted, I believe the Gothic Romance is dead).  More to the point, Koontz, who was not yet 30 when he wrote Writing Popular Fiction, clearly understood all of the genres and the necessary elements to make one acceptable to a publisher.
     Koontz is a little too eager to go to numbered lists (this is more of a personal complaint, because if one is keeping the book handy as a resource then this tactic is fine, but it gets cumbersome if one is just reading through the book as a book).  Then, when doing so would make the most sense, he avoids the tactic and just lists the information with paragraph breaks.  It feels a little odd, but once I understood that he was going to change it up whenever he felt like it, I became much less concerned about it.
     One of the better parts of any book on writing is how many forgotten (or at least unknown to me if they have remained popular) books the author mentions as good examples of the genres.  For the most part, Koontz rattles off well-known and renowned titles and authors, though in some instances he seems to be well ahead of his time.  He praises Lucas' THX 1138 as being one of the two worthwhile (meaning not derivative) science fiction movies, which is impressive mostly because nobody saw THX 1138 when it was released.  Still, it became quite clear that not only was Koontz very well read, he also had no problem throwing other writers under the bus when it came to their abilities and works.  This stood in odd contrast to his straight-out advice that a writer is better served by writing sub-standard, by the numbers genre fiction to earn a paycheck than in taking a 9 to 5 job and neglecting writing for even a few short months.
     Koontz also gives great insight into why the authors of the era were so eager to use pen names.  This always confused me, but apparently there was a prevailing belief that an author could compete with himself (or herself) instead of a loyal following buying more books by the same author.  Likewise, there were genres (this may still be the case) where the audience was thought to only endorse on gender of author – Westerns needed to be written by men, Gothic Romances only by women – and an author often took a name for each genre in which he or she worked.  It still seems crazy to me, but Koontz does an excellent job of explaining that when the publisher tells you to use a different name if you want the advance check, do it.
     According to Koontz, a good story needs:
❶ A Strong Plot
❷ A Hero or Heroine
❸ Clear, Believable Motivation
❹ A Great Deal of Action
❺ A Colorful Background
     That all seems super-obvious, doesn't it?  Yet there are several stories I'd love to develop that I have have yet to figure out how to move the plot to the forefront of the tale.  I have been known to try to force weak or unlikeable characters into the main role.  I cannot remember I time I did not try to hide the characters motivations.  I love restricting action (for no reason).  And I am weak at describing the alien (Science Fiction or Fantasy) settings, or in bringing out the particulars of an environment and making the story come alive because of them.  It is all simple advice, but sometimes I need to be clobbered over the head with it.
     My overall reaction to this book is positive.  I think I would enjoy a conversation with Koontz more than his books (and non-fiction to his fiction), but he clearly has mastered the craft of getting the readable, serviceable story in print quickly.  Dated, sure, but worthwhile.

Here are some of the fun bits I marked:

Koontz wondering about the future for a science fiction novel: Will marijuana be legal? p. 18

History lesson on American politics: In a short novel, appropriately enough titled If This Goes On..., Robert Heinlein writes of a future in which the church's tax-exempt status and the gullibility of the masses propel a backwoods evangelist into national politics and, eventually, a religious dictatorship that covers North America.  Heinlein's argument that the church should not be given an inch of influence in government, lst it take a mile, is given plausibility by the manner in which churches, in recent years, have pyramided their moral influence over government into a multi-million-dollar-a-year pro-church lobby in Washington. p. 21

Just kind of funny: For example, if you were primarily concerned with writing about the total failure of law and order in the city streets after dark by the year 1990... p. 22  (I had forgotten how focused on urban decay 1970s Sci-Fi was.)

Avoid cliched plots: Do not, for example, propose "secret organizations" who are out to overthrown some government and destroy the world.  Only governments themselves have the power to destroy the world.  And organizations out to overthrow governments are usually not secret, though their machinations may be. ...Never propose a villain who, single-handedly, sets out to destroy the world, no matter how wealthy or resourceful he may be. p. 78  (People still violate this all the time, and it is sad that it has endured.)

On p. 83, Koontz misunderstands the duties of the Secret Service while criticizing authors who misunderstand the duties of the Secret Service (he states they only protect the President and candidates).

The unlikable narrator: There is no hard and fast rule for this, in any genre; every story demands its own voice.  However, a good rule of thumb is to use third person for a story whose hero is hard-bitten and extremely competent.  A first person narrative by such a hero, in which he must regularly comment on his own prowess and cunning, may seem ludicrous to the reader.  He may dislike the hero and, therefore, the entire novel.  (This is how I felt about Patient Zero.)

Best title for a book some should be ashamed to be seen reading: Thirteen and Ready! p. 148

Koontz on Women Readers: Many women who read the Big Sexy Novel are terrified of divorce and, rather than seeing it as an answer to the problem, might find it a frightening and depressing non-conclusion.  This might change, too, in coming years, as more and more women realize their value, as people, outside of the institution of marriage. p. 144

Keep it simple: The vocabulary of the BigSN should always be simple.  The fewer multi-syllabic words you use, the better.  This does not mean that the BigSN reader has a more limited vocabulary than other genre readers; however, most BigSN want a book that can be read at the beach, over several evenings, between household chores–in short, a book that is interesting but not so demanding that it must be read carefully and in as few sittings as possible. p. 146

Respect the rules: Writers break rules and still get published all the time.  But these are writers who have published, for the most part, numerous other books: people who have learned all the rules, have proved they can use them successfully time and again, and have therefore earned the right to break a tradition or two. p. 151

Don't write in a particular dated style: Finally, avoid using the observer frame for your story, in which the first person narrator prefaces and ends the story with statements that this was the way he saw it all happen.  This technique, made popular by Conan Doyle in his Sherlock Holmes stories, renders the plot all past even, one long flashback, and it robs the story of its immediacy. p. 166

Style: ...[I]f you are trying to write beautiful prose full of catchy similes and metaphors and other figures of speech, you have reached a point where you should stop and reconsider what you are doing.  Whether or not you recognize it, you have your own voice already, one the reader will identify as yours, and you have only to let it grown of its own accord. p. 166

Style: There is one rule of style that every writer can benefit from: say it a simply, as clearly , and as shortly as possible. p. 167

Style: Economy of language is the most important stylistic goal. p. 170

Fifteen Books

     Are you well read?  I am certainly not, though there has been a concerted effort to go from the stage of reading less than six new books a year (let's call that from 2000-2009) – though to be fair, I did re-read a number of books during that period – to actually reading more than one per month; the goal has become to read at least four books per month.  If I could keep up the rate I have going for this year (I cannot, because it is inflated with many short books), I would read 936 books over the course of a decade.  That seems like a lot of reading to me.  I'll be happy if I pass 1,000 total before I die.  Well, no I won't, because the specter of death will be forever before me until I'm dead, at which point all of everything just won't matter.  But I will be momentarily pleased that I managed to take in some of what the written word had to offer in my time amongst the living.
     But for as much as I may be reading this year, it occurs to me that I may not be reading the books that everyone is, or rather the ones they have already read (because I wasn't much of a reader before I took a decade off).  There are so many books out there that I sometime wonder how – school assignments aside – we end up reading the same material.  I know that I only came to read Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park (1990) because the paperback release had a stand at the front of Crown (or was it Walden?) Books in the Orland Square mall for something close to six months.  Somewhere along the line I figured that people must be buying it (presumably reading it as well) if they kept the stand up.  So I borrowed a copy, ruined it via a leaky bottle of contacts solution, replaced the original and bought one for myself and finished it in what was for me short order.  Then the movie ruined everything – including, I assume, people's desire to read the novel.
     What I have come up with here is my best guess at the fifteen books I have read which I suspect most of the people with whom I associate (for better or worse) have read.  No particular order.
☞  The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
☞  The Hobbit
☞  Fahrenheit 451
☞  A Doll's House
☞  The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
☞  The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
☞  Treasure Island
☞  The Great Gatsby
☞  The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
☞  Lord of the Flies
☞  The Glass Menagerie
☞  Heart of Darkness
☞  The Pearl
☞  Ethan Frome
☞  The Red Badge of Courage
     But I am more curious as to what books other people assume that other people have read.  Feel free to chime in with your thoughts.

Planet of the Apes (1963)

     I have to wonder what it would be like to be able to read Pierre Boulle's Planet of the Apes (1963) in its original French.  Knowing only enough of the language to be able to fumble my way through the label on a package of cheese (this actually was useful at the previous job), it would be impossible for me to be able to handle something as simple as a picture book in French.  Actually, in most any language other than English.  Still, there is an air of something – a kind of self-possessed importance – that permeates the book, both in the overstated purposeful way that space-faring journalist Ulysee Mérou carries his indignation and in the general attitude that Boulle seems to have towards mankind's achievements in general.  In my limited experience, this feels very French.
     From the format that apes the Victorian through Pulp-era adventure stories to the experience of a learned man stranded amongst alien others (and cared for by a wise and kind female), much of Planet of the Apes comes off like a refutation of the points made in Charlotte Perkins Gilman's Herland (1915).  The French are not renowned for being progressive (as a society) in regards to gender roles – see Sartre's commentary on how women tricked men into running the world – and Boulle repeatedly hammers home the superiority of man the gender (perhaps man the species as well, at least when compared to apes).  Naming the planet Soror (Latin for sister...thanks, Wikipedia!), Boulle is not trying to hide the parallels.  Instead, he paints a horrific vision of general society and what happens when one is pulled from the top level of civilization.
     Other than struggle with his commentaries on humanity, the false promise of feminine progressiveness, and the existential quandaries that come from being forced to doubt one's place in the universe, Boulle manages a rather decent piece of low-action adventure science fiction.  I suspect that enough of the rhythm of the language is lost that is seems more pedestrian in English, but that is a guess.  I'd like to think it was more profound, more earth-shattering in its unique vision when it first was published.  It seems that Boulle wants to hint at and dance around the issues rather than confront them, even in an oblique manner.
     Now, I am extremely biased on the subject.  Franklin J. Schaffer's Planet of the Apes (1968) is one of my all-time favorite films, one that is direct and forceful in the many commentaries it fires at the audience.  It also has a much more American hero, one who is easy to hate while impossible not to view as humanity's most unlikely champion.  That isn't what is embodied in the novel, and while part of me knows this is for the best, it left me feeling that Boulle did not completely capture the possibilities of his own story.  At the same time, the many people who have adapted the "Apes" movies and TV series did their best to draw out the elements Boulle included.  Indeed, the much despised shock-ending of Tim Burton's version of Planet of the Apes (2001) – one Kevin Smith stupidly claimed as having originated – is presupposed in the novel.
      Planet of the Apes will never replace the 1968 film in my heart.  But I am glad that I took the time to read it.  There is something worthwhile buried within it, sure, but it is (even as a translation) a fine book to read to break up the more serious titles.

Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons & Dragon (2011)

     I have waited a long time to post on this book.  In part because I didn't want to simply give voice to my anger and disappointment that a purposely (seemingly) vacuous person has a position with the company that publishes – and seems to have great joy in rescuing and destroying – Dungeons & Dragons while having no real personal attachment to the game.  Shelly Mazzanoble writes about the lessons she has learned from D&D the way I could try to detail the length and breadth of humanity from having to aid them with finding the products that are right in front of them at the store.  Hey, I'll straight out admit that I used to visit the comparative stores in other markets when I was on vacation, meaning that I must have had some attachment and involvement with that job that went beyond taking home money every Thursday.  It would be extremely hypocritical of me to suggest that Mazzanoble could not have developed an attachment to D&D through her workplace association with it.  But I will insist that her connection is inferior to mine because mine is from my formative years.  Like it or not – and I came to terms with it over a decade ago – I am a Dungeons & Dragons guy.  Just not the kind that could get on board with 4E or be bothered to read any of the Forgotten Realms novels.
     Mazzanoble, on the other hand, is the kind of person that I think my brother aspired to be for about a minute in 1993.  By that I mean that I'm sure he would have loved to have interned at SubPop Records around that time, and he lasted a whole semester out in the Pacific Northwest at the Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington.  Mazzanoble comes off as a cross between a self-doubting/self-obsessed ditz and a functional, conscientious person who has a clue on how to get through life without needing to relate it to a game where the goal is often to murder and rob others.  She seems to have to work backwards, giving information about her life and how her understanding is truly formed by her mother, and then inserting how Dungeons & Dragons doesn't countermand those important lessons.
     Like her other book, it would seem that Everything I Need to Know I Learned from Dungeons and Dragons (2011) was written in an effort to redeem D&D of its image from...well, I honestly don't know when D&D had an image problem in my circles.  I know there was some uproar about it when AD&D was breaking big in the late 1970s.  I also know that bad press continued into the mid-1980s.  But there were D&D boxsets at Toys 'Я' Us and Kay•Bee Toys, the AD&D books fully stocked at the tiny Palos Park Public Library, and a successful cartoon show during the 1980s.  Hell, the worst thing I can think of associated with D&D – other than how some of the players really did look like greasy trolls who shun meaningful human contact, but since many of them were teens or in their early 20s, it is entirely possible they just hadn't mastered good hygiene yet – is the Dungeons & Dragons (2000) movie.
     For all of my bitching, and there could be much more than what I'll show here, Mazzanoble isn't a bad writer.  She is just (in my estimation) writing for the wrong audience.  I have a feeling that the people who think that reality television on the opposite side of the spectrum from Mythbusters (2003-present) or Deadliest Catch (2005-present) aren't likely to be drawn to Dungeons & Dragons.  There isn't a huge Say Yes to the Dress (2007-present) vibe to most D&D sessions.  I'm not trying to knock shows that clearly appeal more to the ladies, but Dungeons & Dragons – even in its more introspective, personal moments – is usually not running short on testosterone.  Every character has a means to go about killing, and most games expect it to happen on a regular basis.  Hell, the original formula for advancing characters was largely predicated on how tough or dangerous the monsters were which the PCs were killing.
     Mazzanoble seems to see D&D as a cooperative game – which it is – but doesn't seem to grasp that it is quite different from a sedentary team sport.  There is almost no mention of character development, by which I mean how the player comes to know and understand his or her PC as a separate being (more than just an alter-ego).  Instead, she seems to think that character creation is the time to understand the character; after that, it is a figure to be moved around on the combat grid and a sheet on which abilities and powers are recorded.  She doesn't come across as cognizant of how D&D may be different from other roleplaying games.  Why could she not learn everything she needed to know from Rifts or Deadlands – except for the fact that she isn't employed by Palladium Books or Pinnacle Entertainment Group?
     She also largely ignores the role that having something that could draw a diverse group of outcasts together, as D&D did before the world became one that accepted and celebrated things like World of Warcraft or Skyrim, would have on the players.  Coming to the game as an adult, where one can play it at work (on the clock), I am sure that she didn't give it much thought.  Her one example of introducing it to children showed her to have little concept of how it might bring people with nothing else in common together.
     This wasn't a bad book.  But it certainly wasn't written with people like me in mind.  Then again, several WoTC employees had no problem telling me that they had no qualms if all the longtime D&D players walked away when 4E was launched (because they had a plan to get a new generation of players).  They also told me that they weren't interested in listening to feedback outside of organized play (because home campaigns can always change the rules as they see fit).  I really wish I had written down those guys names way back when, because I know that one of them ended up being a prominent player in 4E; more than that, I would like to be able to back up my statements by saying something more than the WoTC employees at the GenCon booth told me those things.
     Mazzanoble seems to have to make up for some of that damage, but she still isn't trying to appeal to longtime players.  And I would be forever baffled as to why anyone who wasn't playing D&D would buy or read the book.  It is a fake self-help book that is really an excuse for Mazzanoble to write about herself.  I won't begrudge her that.  I think a lot of us would do that if we were given the opportunity, and I know that I wouldn't be able to make myself as sympathetic as her.  I just don't think that her efforts to wedge D&D into her personal story served her, her story, or the property.

The Gratitude of Kings (1997)

     I had some knowledge of Thieves' World as early as the mid-1980s.  Probably had something to do with the fact that Chaosium did the RPG for the setting and I was purchasing – more properly, my parents were purchasing at my insistence – ElfQuest RPG materials from the same company at the time.  I don't think I read much more than a couple of excerpts from stories from the world, though.  But it didn't stick enough in my memory for me to be searching out Thieves' World material now.  No, I came to read Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Gratitude of Kings (1997) because it was at the library, looked short, and I found out who Bradley was in reading How to Write Tales of Horror, Fantasy & Science Fiction (1987).  Clearly, I should have known who she was as I was familiar with some of her works (that they exist, not that I read them), but it is never to late to get started.
     While The Gratitude of Kings is officially listed as a short story, I have chosen to treat it as a novella.  First, it has its own stand alone hardcover book.  Second, and more importantly, it would still be close to sixty pages as a trade paperback, which I am willing to accept as being just past my comfort zone for a short story.  This information really only means something to me and how I'm counting what I've read this year, but now you know that there are some internal debates when the material can be judged two different ways.
     Jumping into an established setting with established characters isn't always a pleasant experience, but Bradley has an easy writing style and a comforting sense of humor.  It doesn't feel like she is working at explaining what has gone before while allowing the new reader to know that, yes, much has already happened.  If I have a complaint – and I always do – it would be that Bradley has a fondness of fantasy names that are confounding to pronounce and keep happily in one's mind.  I was thankful when she introduced characters like Princess Velvet and the weredragon, Beauty.  Those are names with which I don't have to struggle, but they still keep the illusion of a functioning fantasy world.
     This story is a rather small one, with a spellcaster answering a King's request to be present at a Royal wedding.  There is a cursed magical instrument, a contest of magical arts, a murder, and the general message that a woman can usually count on a man to get the big picture wrong.  That last part doesn't come across as angry or painting with a broad brush, but specific to the situation and in keeping with the humor of the tale.
     Bradley has much more famous and successful work, but I would suspect that I would be happier with her lighter Thieves' World material.  I could be wrong; that wouldn't be the end of the world.  But at least I do know that I need to make an effort to seek out some more Bradley for next year's Reading Project.

Make Love! The Bruce Campbell Way (2005)

     Make Love! The Bruce Campbell Way (2005) marks Bruce Campbell's first venture into humorous fiction (his first book being a memoir on how a guy from Michigan ended up a B-Movie icon with not a lot of extra money to show for it).  Knowing that Campbell's humor runs not just towards the lowbrow but to the most repetitive slapstick the Three Stooges ever performed, I didn't have high expectations for this.  Sure, Campbell is a literate guy – he has at least been reading scripts in all that time as an actor and director – but I did not expect him to be able to build a compelling narrative without dedicating some serious time to honing this new craft.
     In fact, there is not really much of a plot to Make Love!; it really is composed around a handful of recurring ideas.  Rather than tell the story in a conventional manner, Campbell intersperses his supposedly focal idea – he has been cast as the third major character in an A-list Hollywood movie (filming in New York) – with sketches that really have nothing to do with the story except to show how wacky Campbell's fake life is.  These asides (for the most part) end up being better than the story about Campbell destroying Mike Nichols' movie. 
     The best part of the book – sorry, Bruce – are the worked-up photos and gag visuals.  These were what led me to laugh out loud repeatedly.  Not so much for Campbell being inserted into numerous alternate personae but the fake signs and such.  So much better than the disasters that came out from Jon Stewart (and The Daily Show writers) that one has to wonder if Campbell and Craig "Kif" Sanborn have struck a rare kind of comic gold by working together.
     The only part of the book that I actively didn't like was when Campbell confused Dungeons & Dragons with hide and go seek.  For a guy who has appeared at numerous gaming conventions (and game fairs), and who would be age appropriate for AD&D's heyday, this was a real letdown.  I was also surprised that in his acknowledgements Campbell didn't thank (or even acknowledge) Richard Gere, Renée Zellweger, or Mike Nichols; if one is going to use real people in ficticious situations – like having Gere happily cheat on his wife – that person should probably give them some mention or thanks.
    I don't know that anyone who isn't a fan of Campbell-the-actor who would ever find reason to read this, but it isn't bad.  It just isn't very mature.  Maybe that is part of Campbell's charm, that he can be fake smarmy while retaining his innocent immaturity.  It works, for the most part, here.

A War of Gifts (2007)

     One of the benefits (for lack of a better term) of reading lots of shorter books is that I don't mind taking a chance on random ones picked up at the library.  Well, not exactly random.  These books tend to comes from the single aisle of Fantasy and Science Fiction – because apparently there is no difference between the two.  To date, this has not been a rewarding way to select reading material in terms of personal satisfaction but it has helped in racking up the titles read.  It also lets me ease my way in to authors who many of my peers are quite familiar (whereas I had retained my ignorance of their works).
     I am going to assume that A War of Gifts (2007) is not a proper introduction into Orson Scott Card's multi-book saga about Ender Wiggins.  It seems like some fleshed out background material that passes as a decent (if short) novella to a neophyte, whereas a person immersed in the larger story would feel that Card is giving many (I assume) of the characters a richer backstory.  I see it – in my admitted ignorance – as a reward for those who have read and loved the previous novels.
     There isn't much science in this Science Fiction story, other than the general setting.  Instead, it places the themes of religion (does it have a role in military exercise?), camaraderie (on what basis is it extended?), and opposition to stifling authority in very common situations by having it be explored by children with little control of their lives.  Sadly, Card doesn't really have much to say on the subjects that stirs too deeply.  Maybe he does in the full-blown novels and simply repeating it here would have been tedious.
     It isn't a bad book.  In fact, I was happy to enjoy it given the disappointments other blind grabs have been.  Card is much more glib that I expected him to be with his dialogue. However, the only characters who come off as not being worthy attention are Ender and Zeck (the nominal main character here).  I am somewhat confidant that I will never get around to reading the rest of the saga, but I have finally (at least) acquainted myself with Card as a writer.

Philosophers in 90 Minutes (Part Four)

     Author Paul Strathern is largely more comfortable writing about philosophers whose contributions fall in the political realm than he is in discussing how Augustine or Aquinas integrated Ancient Greek philosophies into the Christian tradition.  He spends much of Locke in 90 Minutes (1999) not so much discussing (or even mentioning) specific contributions Locke made – using one of the more traditional cop-outs in maintaining that we would only look upon them as common sense" – but in humanizing Locke.  He also does a better than average job of covering the history of the era (considering the brevity of the book).
     At the same time, Strathern takes the time to do some quality English-bashing.  While this is usually tame, he does rise up to show what may be some contempt rather than playfulness in exploring the nature of the English.  See the following example:
           The English have always been very good at being boring,
           and several times in history have emerged for 
           considerable periods as undisputed world masters in the 
           field.  This was one of them.  Under the Puritans all 
           conspicuous signs of enjoyment were banned.  Even 
           Christmas was banned, despite what it celebrated.    
          Citizens were expected to work all day and spend the rest 
          of their time conforming.  Life was given over to Puritan 
          indoctrination, the thought police, informers (on the likes of 
          wicked Christmas pudding eaters), and long sessions spent 
          studying the principles of Markism, Lukism, and Johnism.  
          Until in the end even the English had had enough, and 
          decided to invite Charles II to take over.  They preferred to be 
          ruled by a drunkard who lived with a prostitute, that than do 
          without Christmas pudding. [p. 19-20]
     Strathern also exposes his distaste for actual philosophy (this is made clear in a different book discussed later in this post) by attacking the contributions of philosophers who dared to believe that metaphysics is a fit subject to explore.  I have no idea where this fits in with mainstream, working (in academia) philosophers; it certainly was not prominent at any of the various colleges/universities that saw fit to let me take classes in the subject.  He is more couched in his criticism here, allowing some merit at least to Kant, but only in the aesthetics of the system he created (German philosophers really do have an innate love of systems), not in value derived from the system.
           Without Descartes there might have been no modern philosophy.  

           But it was Locke who fathered its main line of development—the 

           British empiricists, who then provoked Kant to produce the 

           greatest philosophical system of them all, which in turn gave rise to 

           the elephantine folly of Hegel, and the consequent disbelief in all 

           systems by anyone except Marxists and optimistic punters. [p. 42]
     I would have preferred for Strathern to give more attention to Locke's works – he even goes a little light in quoting from them in the excerpts at the end of the book – but I cannot find a lot of fault in the book as a general overview.  It does help to be familiar with Locke's writing going in, but as a short biography of the man, his time, and his general ideas, this book is fine.

     Strathern has probably his best (certainly of those that I have read) book in the series with J.S. Mill in 90 Minutes (2002).  This isn't because Mill is the most influential philosopher he has covered – everyone after Kant has been trying to answer him, and Kant himself was just setting out to refute Hume, and Hume...well, he tried his best to establish that philosophy had no relation to the day-to-day life most of us engage in, the one that lets us hold a job, earn a living, have a good time...basically survive – but rather because Strathern finds many pointed ways to make Mill's arguments in favor of Utilitarianism and general equality easily recognizable in modern Western society.
     Not that the book has an encouraging start.  The entire introduction is dedicated to Jeremy Bentham, with Strathern seemingly eager to reduce Mill to simply repeat the ideas and take the credit.  Strathern does make the effort to show where Mill branched off on his own in regards to the philosophy, but he does so with much amateur guessing as to the psychological motives behind his work (having already exposed his distaste for psychology/psychiatry; it being a fake science, like economics, according to Strathern). 
      He does – supposing on Mill's sexual experience on resentment of his father aside – a rather elegant job of not letting the history of the man or his era overwhelm the deeper thoughts expressed in the philosophy while still doing justice to them.  Here are the various bits of the book that caught my attention:
           A few years later [after entering the civil service at the age of eighteen] 

           John Stuart Mill  also took on the task of of editing the influential 

           Westminster Review, which attracted such writers as Coleridge and

           George Eliot.  (Among this magazine's many philosophical and literary

           achievements were the introduction of Kant to general English 

           readership and a review of of the unknown Schopenhauer, which 

           overnight made him  belatedly famous in Germany. [p. 26]
     This really doesn't stress Mill's importance with the Westminster Review as it does the Review's importance all on its own.  Mill is, by extension, important early on because of his relationship to it rather than vice versa.
           Metaphysics Mill was content to dismiss, but German metaphysics was

           one of the few subjects that provoked his passionate outbursts.  He 

           even declared that being conversant with Hegel "tends to deprave one's

           intellect." [p. 27]
     This combines Strathern's general distaste for metaphysics and his outright hatred of Hegel (or at least the Hegelian philosophic system).  But at the same time it gives good insight into the otherwise proper – to the point of being a caricature of the trait – Mill having human emotions.
      Strathern points out Lobachevsky's introduction of non-Euclidean geometry, which rendered mathematics that "often had no correlate in the physical world.  Mathematical space and physical space were in no way identical: here experience and mathematics were two entirely different things." [p. 36]  This is related to how empiricism cannot explain a complete and thorough understanding of mathematics, a problem which Mill never quite overcame.
           Mill realized that the laws that govern economics are concerned with 

           production, not with distribution.  The productivity of labor, of the soil, of 

           machinery—these can all be organized more or less efficiently according 

           to certain objective laws.  These laws are affected by certain limiting 

           factors, such as nature (glut or famine), productivity (of labor, or machine),

           and so forth.  Wealth is thus produced according to laws and objective 

           factors which enable us to maximize its quantity. [p. 37]
     This is a huge breakthrough in terms of viewing economics.  It had, to date, only been concerned with looking at one half of the equation.  Mill argued that what had long been ignored was the moral component to the distribution of goods, services, and wealth.  It could not be approached with only efficiency or a desire to maximize transactions as the sole guiding principles.
           Utilitarianism remains at least the guiding principle in all labor-market 

           bargaining, union negotiations, and executive salary levels.  It may not be 

           adhered to, but it undeniably informs all such social interaction—it is the 

           one common denominator.  It remains a yard stick by which most of us 

           judge the distribution of wealth.  Ludicrously inflated earnings for senior 

           executives of large corporations are said to be "what the market dictates."  

           This is seen as a matter of production, beyond moral debate.  Objections to 

           such practice make use of Mill's original distinction and insist that it is a 

           matter of distribution.  This means that such remunerations are subject to 

           more than simply economic considerations.  They fall within the realm of 

           moral judgment.  And the most pertinent application here would seem to 

           many to be the Utilitarian idea of the common good. [p. 40-41]
     I would like to think that passage speaks for itself.
           Mill is well aware of Hume's argument and seeks to circumvent it.  He 

           does not smuggle an ought into his argument, where previously there had 

           only been an is; instead he presents a psychological fact.  At this point it is 

           worth reiterating in full Bentham's core Utilitarian principles, to which Mill 

           continued to subscribe: "Nature has placed mankind under the governance of 

           two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure.  It is for them alone to point out 

           what we ought to do, as well as to determine what we shall do....

           The standard of right and wrong [is] fastened to their throne.  They govern us 

           in all we do, in all we say, in all we think: every effort we make to throw off 

           subjection will serve but to demonstrate and confirm...[this] principle of 

           utility."  Mill concurs: "I regard utility as the ultimate appeal in all ethical 

           questions." [p. 46-47]
     Hume had a primary objection of how moral systems inserted ought to and ought not to into arguments without any real logical connection to the is and is not statements that preceded them.  While I find Utilitarianism to be a deeply flawed system for determining proper moral action, it was still an improvement over philosophies that stifled the sense of and role of self in determining moral choice.
           Bentham's concept of liberty had not been entirely theoretical.  His belief in the

           freedom of the individual had even led him to suggest that the law forbidding 

           homosexuality should be repealed: "How a voluntary act of this sort by two 

           individuals can be said to have anything to do with the safety of them or any 

          other individual whatever, is somewhat difficult to be conceived."  Such 

          advanced ideas were not widely promoted at a time when those "caught in 

          buggery" ended up on the gallows.  Betham's opinion on homosexuality, 

          especially coming from a man of high-minded principles who had no 

          sexual experience whatsoever—he remained chaste throughout his life—speaks 

          volumes for the liberalizing effect of his Utilitarianism. [p. 57-58]
     This is the kind of 1830s thinking that I would be okay with us returning to.  I'm not really sure if Bentham's sexuality, or thorough lack of sexual inclination, has any bearing on the merits of his argument; I wouldn't have presented it in a book about Mill. 
           At one point he was asked, "Did you declare that the English working 

           classes, though differing from some other countries in being ashamed of 

           lying, were yet 'generally liars'?"  Mill immediately replied, "I did."  The 

           working-class members of the audience responded with appreciative 

           applause, and Mill was duly elected. [p. 63-64]
     This is a funny story, made better because Mill's original plan for running for office was to do no campaigning, give no speeches, and engage in no debates – thinking that this freed up to voters to make informed choices without undue influence from the candidate.
           "So long as an opinion is strongly rooted in the feelings, it gains rather than 

           loses in stability by having a preponderant weight of argument against it. For 

           if it were accepted as a result of argument, the refutation of the argument 

           might shake the solidity of the conviction; but when it rests solely on feeling, 

           the worse it fares in argumentative contest, the more persuaded its adherents 

           are that their feelings must have some deeper ground, which the arguments 
           do not reach."  [p. 65]
     And that is how Mill crushes the faith-based/intuitive argument.
           "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be 

           Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied.  And if the fool, or the pig, is of a 

          different opinion, it is because they only know their side of the question." 

          [p. 75, from Utilitarianism]
     Rather strong words for a man who was largely arguing in favor of pleasure (of a sort) at all times for the most people.

           "Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign." 

           [p. 76, from On Liberty]
     I would like to think the implications of that are easy to recognize.  And yet there is an entire political party dedicated to proving this is not the case, all the while arguing for limited government interference in the lives and over the rights of the individual.

     As strong as the book on Mill was, Hume in 90 Minutes (1999) proved to be a total disaster.  Not only does Strathern spend most of his time expressing how much he loves Hume (in that he is a Humean), he does this while failing to give an engaging (and possibility inaccurate) account of Hume's life. 

     Strathern clearly has a selective reading of Hume's philosophical works (nothing on the Clever Knave, nothing on how the mundane life is anathema to philosophical pursuits is mentioned here). Worse, he seems to have a fundamentally flawed view of it, thinking that there is something more than a general reduction to general uncertainty (on principle, not practicality, logic, reason, or experience). 
     I am not an expert on Hume.  I have read most of An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals (1751) as well as most of An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (1748), with the support structure of a great professor and competent classmates to help me make sense of the material.  It would seem that Strathern either didn't read them or has a completely alien understanding of the general points of them. 
     If there were a book in this series to avoid, this is it.  Not because it is likely to offend, but because it really does nothing to help the reader gain a better understanding of the man or his works.

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (1971)

     I remember the first – and to that point, only – time I read Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (1971).  It was well after Don Bluth's animated adaptation, The Secret of NIMH (1982), at least as how time is seen to a child.  To my knowledge, I was the last of my friends to actually read the book; I distinctly remember asking Joel Tysiak for the title of the book so that I didn't end up reading something nobody else had.  I can't explain why that last part was important because I still don't know.
      As a child, I don't know if I got beyond the simple narrative of the story.  It certainly was more tame than the movie.  No magic.  There isn't some sinister force working against the good rats.  It certainly didn't seem all that heroic.  The best thing going for it – it seemed – was that it had talking animals. 
     Giving it another pass as an adult, I was struck by O'Brien's economy of language.  He doesn't draw this tale out to preposterous lengths, choosing instead to keep the story continuously moving forward with only the necessary descriptive adjectives and adverbs.  He certainly challenges the vocabulary of the average 10 year old with it (I don't know the target audience, but it feels like it is pre-tween), but not in an aggressive or impolite manner.  Indeed, I can imagine children gleaning most of the meaning from context and happily turning to the (online) dictionary for any words beyond them.
     It has at its core an interesting concept for a children's book.  It is about the everyday heroics of parenting made manifest in the quest to keep a child safe.  The good relationship the late Jonathan Frisby built with the Rats (and how well he was regarded by other various creatures) allow for Mrs. Frisby to seek out allies and do right for her children.  She cannot do it alone, but she is not so obstinate as to even try to forgo seeking help.  She is also a good enough soul to offer help to others when she is in position to do as much.
     In an animal world where most of those she encounters are smarter than she is, Mrs. Frisby isn't rejected or looked down upon.  She is different, but she is still valued.  Largely treated as an equal by the Rats (who know she is not), she becomes a keeper of their history for their time on the Fitzgibbon farm and the informant who keeps them from being exterminated.  That O'Brien could do all of this with a gentle yet engaging tone, one that has certainly made many a young reader strive to find out what comes next without fretting about the lack of control the mouse has in a world of Rats, men, owls, and Dragon (the cat). 
     Mrs. Frisby is the ultimate mother-as-hero, but she is presented also as how a child would be among adults.  Her actions have merit.  She matters.  O'Brien makes it happen through the story, not as some tagged on lines to reassure the little ones that she is like them and they like her. 
     I certainly don't read much in the way of books aimed a children.  Hell, until recently, I could be said to not be doing much in the way of reading.  But I glad I gave this book another look.  It is a great example of how to write – and do so exceptionally well – for children.