Lois Tilton reviews Mirror Dance

I have some exciting news to go along with my exciting new blog template! This month, alongside her ususal reviews of professional magazines like Clarkesworld and Apex, Lois Tilton at Locus has reviewed the Spring 2012 issue of Mirror Dance. Caroline Spencer's "The Players" is "recommended," and Ms. Tilton has nice things to say about the other short fiction in the issue.

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Wednesday, May 09, 2012

Mirror Dance, review

That's...new.

There's a review of "The Celebrated Carousel of the Margravine of Blois" over at Tangent Online. Apparently my name is Meg Arkenberg. That's interesting. :-)

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Friday, May 13, 2011

review, that's MY name on the ballot

The Emphasis of Dorian Gray

A few caveats. First, this post contains slight spoilers for Oliver Parker’s 2009 movie Dorian Gray and, by extension, Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray. Read on at your own risk. (And if you haven’t read the novel, leave this blog right now and find it on Project Gutenberg. Right now.)

Second, this post is me self-indulgently musing on my viewing experience, not a review. If it was a review, I would be morally obliged to give equal time to the many, many things this movie did wonderfully—for example, the casting of Ben Barnes as our eponymous antihero. If I mentioned this, I would also have to digress on whether the important aspect of Dorian’s looks is his youth or his beauty, and if I entered that argument, I would then have to back it up with lengthy textual evidence, which would itself require context…so this is not a review.

Let the debauchery begin.



My theory: the writers locked the script in an attic and went out with the book to have a good time. When they returned, they noticed a small change in the script…

So I’m in love with The Picture of Dorian Gray. I’ve read it at least eighteen times (all the way through—I’m not sure how many times I’ve flipped it open simply to browse). I own three or four copies and have memorized the introductory matter to each. True, I have nothing on Mr. Dorian Gray himself…

For years, Dorian Gray could not free himself from the memory of this book. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he never sought to free himself from it. He procured from Paris no less than five large-paper copies of the first edition, and had them bound in different colors, so that they might suit his various moods and the changing fancies of a nature over which he seemed, at times, to have almost entirely lost control. The hero, the wonderful young Parisian, in whom the romantic temperament and the scientific temperament were so strangely blended, became to him a kind of prefiguring type of himself. And, indeed, the whole book seemed to him to contain the story of his own life, written before he had lived it. (The Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter XI.)

…but this shows a limitation in available shelf space rather than ardor. I own an Oscar Wilde action figure and an Oscar Wilde plush toy. On the stranger end of things, I own a picture of myself dressed as Oscar Wilde and my significant other dressed as Dorian Gray. Friends assure me this is odd.

That said, I do not allow my obsession to blind me to the limitations of form. One simply cannot make a movie of Oscar Wilde’s book; it’s too big, too dense, too full of things that don’t translate well onto the screen (Chapter XI, I’m looking at you). Dorian Gray needed to cut something. My interest is in what it added.

Let’s start with the obvious. Dorian Gray is much more explicit than its ink-and-paper predecessor. And no, I’m not referring to the sexual content—that merits a discussion of its own, and one I’m not all that interested in, to tell the truth. I mean that several conclusions the reader was left to draw in The Picture of Dorian Gray were served beautifully on a platter in the movie.

Basil’s romance with Dorian, for example. To be fair, no one was in danger of getting jailed for homosexual content in the movie *mumblemumbleanti-sodomylawsmumblebullshitmumble*, but as in all romances, subtlety has its place. Now, in my reading of the book (which is a) certainly not the only one and b) based on both the 1890 and the 1891 texts), the fact that Basil is in love with Dorian is non-negotiable.

"You don't mean to say that Basil has got any passion or any romance in him?"

"I don't know whether he has any passion, but he certainly has romance," said Lord Henry, with an amused look in his eyes. "Has he never let you know that?" (The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1890, Chapter III.)

Strangely, Basil’s attraction is less obvious in the movie—probably because it is never discussed, certainly not at length as it is in the book—at the one scene towards the beginning that should make it obvious really doesn’t. Dorian is changing clothes after standing for his portrait; Basil gets a glimpse of him through the curtains; instead of betraying jaw-dropped lust (look, what you have to understand is that Ben Barnes is really really pretty) or aesthetic appreciation, Basil looks mildly confused. As in, “Why are you naked in my living room?”

Now, that can be a perfectly valid interpretation of Basil. But sometime before the movie’s halfway point, Dorian realizes that Basil is in love with him—beats me how, but I’m guessing he read the book—and uses it to manipulate Basil out of borrowing the picture. Mental whiplash, with obvious attractions, ensues.

This underplay/overplay thing happens again with Dorian’s tragic past. For those of you who missed it, it’s in Chapter III of the 1891 edition; his father was killed in a duel and his mother died of grief and his grandfather raised him and was generally an ass. The movie does away with much of this, killing off Dorian’s mother in childbirth and his father from fever, and making Dorian’s grandfather not only creepy but abusive as well. Yes, our beautiful Dorian has scars on his back (I screamed Felix! in the middle of the Sybil scene, actually.). Dorian’s tragic past goes from not present to glaringly explicit in fifteen minutes.

Not that I’m complaining about either of the above examples. As suggested by my linked reference above, M/M and abusive pasts are all right by me. But this next one rankles.

Let’s start at the end, with one of the [few] awesome lines in the movie. Awesome, because it’s what we wanted Book!Dorian to say to Book!Henry all through Chapter XIX.

I am what you made me! I lived the life that you preached but never dared practice. I am everything that you were too afraid to be.

The problem is, so far as the audience has seen, Movie!Henry indulges in exactly the same opium-induced, sex-filled madness as Dorian.

I think this could be played well. A closer comparison of Dorian and Henry could really highlight the effects of Dorian’s eternal youth, which would presumably mean different consequences for Henry and Dorian. But the movie doesn’t even seem to notice this. It changes Henry from a talker to a doer—changes, in terms of the novel, Henry’s form of Art—but leaves his character otherwise unaltered. So why don’t Henry’s sins torment him the way Dorian’s do? Or why do Dorian’s torment him so much? To a large extent, the movie has let the air out of the plot.

If everything before this point hasn’t been a heap of subjective blathering, it’s becoming one now.

In addition to a strange set of vices, Movie!Henry also has a daughter. This daughter is pretty much an elaborate stand-in for Hetty Merton, the country girl Dorian heroically abstains from eloping with in Chapter XIX. No sweat; plenty of Dorian Gray adaptations add or inflate (depending on your point of view) the role of this redeeming woman.

And I cry shenanigans on all of them. Because damn it, Dorian Gray is not supposed to be redeemed.

I’m sure that doesn’t sit well with movie audiences. We come to love Dorian in spite of (or perhaps because of) what he is—and perhaps we simply can’t bear to see something pretty get broken. If so, that bears out Wilde’s point marvelously. But The Picture of Dorian Gray doesn’t give the audience what it wants—in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dorian Gray is not saved.

Vanity? Curiosity? Hypocrisy? Had there been nothing more in his renunciation than that? There had been something more. At least he thought so. But who could tell?... No. There had been nothing more. Through vanity he had spared her. In hypocrisy he had worn the mask of goodness. For curiosity's sake he had tried the denial of self. He recognized that now. (The Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter XX.)

At the end of the novel, Dorian is ruined. There’s nothing good left in him—even his desire to be good is prompted by vanity, a desire that his soul not be ugly. And let’s be honest, Dorian never had a scrap of heroism in him—he’s called Prince Charming for his looks, not his actions. Dorian Gray lacks the capacity to be redeemed. If he didn’t, his picture would not be ugly.

The only reason to inflate Hetty Merton’s character is because you want her to be at least slightly effective (as Miss Wotton is in the movie). You want to show Dorian’s desire and ability to change. The problem is that none of this can be shown because none of it exists—it’s all dimensions of Dorian’s hypocrisy. Say it with me: Dorian is ruined, and redemption is impossible.

Wilde’s plot is tied up with his message and his message is tied up with the plot, like one massive daisy chain. You can’t just change part.

Uh-oh. Did I just say message?

I love the question “What is The Picture of Dorian Gray about?” because it says so much about its answerer. Some people say consequences, some say youth and beauty, some say it’s a novel about a murder (I don’t really like these people). My answer is that The Picture of Dorian Gray is about the influence of Art—specifically, about the way that Art is life.

Basil is his painting.
Sibyl is her acting.
Henry is his epigrams.
Dorian is…

Dorian is a connoisseur. Henry says that Dorian has made life his Art, which is literally true—think hard enough about the Picture as a collaboration between Dorian and Basil, and it will give you nightmares—but I think a major part of Dorian’s character is how he allows Art to become his life. Basil’s painting is his soul, Sibyl’s acting is his love, Henry’s epigrams and the yellow book are Dorian’s thoughts and actions. Dorian isn’t an artist himself—he’s an audience. When Basil speaks about the new mode of Art that Dorian suggests to him, this is what he means.

Does any of this come through in the movie? Don’t make me laugh. Sibyl’s acting has nothing to do with Dorian’s love. Whatever Dorian does to Basil’s painting, we can be sure Basil loves him for, ahem, different reasons. Henry is hardly a clever talker, and unlike anyone in the novel, he has a life—which is to say, Movie!Henry isn’t an artist at all.

So what is the movie about? What is the emphasis of Dorian Gray? Beauty? Youth? Consequences? Sin? Redemption? In all honesty, I draw a blank. This is a beautiful movie, but it reminds me

of those curious lines in some play—Hamlet, I think—how do they run?

 "'Like the painting of a sorrow,
A face without a heart."

Yes: that is what it was like. (The Picture of Dorian Gray, Chapter XIX.)

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Saturday, February 20, 2010

blogging, Dorian Gray, literature, preaching to the invisible choir, review

Nothing like IROSF...

...to make my day.

Reviews of "Four Lies from the Mouth of God" and "All the King's Monsters" here. I learned with "Winterblood" a) not to take this sort of thing too seriously and b) that the reviewer and I have completely different opinions about what speculative fiction should do for the reader.

Speaking of which, a question to the readers: when did I say Julius wrote Four Lies from the Mouth of God?

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Thursday, February 11, 2010

Clarkesworld, fiction, review

Review Policy for Mirror Dance and Lacuna

I've received several e-mails in the past few weeks about reviews for Lacuna and Mirror Dance. Clearly, it's high time I came up with a policy, made it public, and stuck with it.

If you would like to submit a review you have written to Mirror Dance or Lacuna, that is absolutely wonderful: please see the submission guidelines for the individual magazines. Here is my policy for review requests, i.e. publishers or authors who would like me, the editor, to review one of their novels for one of my magazines.

1.

Your book must fit the genre of the magazine in which it is being reviewed.

For Lacuna, this means historical fiction, alternate history, science fiction/fantasy/horror with a historical setting, or creative nonfiction on a historical subject.

For Mirror Dance, this means some form of fantasy or magic realism: not horror or science fiction (dark fantasy and science fantasy are acceptable).

2.

I vastly prefer a hard copy to review. Most of my computer time is spent editing the magazines or working on my own writing career; I read review copies during my commute and during down-time throughout the day.

If you absolutely must send me an electronic copy, it must be a) very short or b) very printer friendly. If for any reason this will be an issue (for example, you are requesting a review for an e-book) please e-mail me with the specifics and we can come up with a satisfactory solution.

3.

Don't be shy about sending me extra information with your review request (I'll do background research anyway, but I feel better when the information comes straight from the author/publisher). Tell me who wrote it, who published it, when it's being published, where it can be bought, how much it costs. If you have a detailed web page dedicated to it, let me know. If you have a fan club, let me know. If there's anything else about you you'd like to have included in the review, tell me up front so I can include it.

4.

If I've reviewed one of your books in the past, you are absolutely welcome to send me a review copy of your next book, add me to your newsletter list, etc. I like to know what you're up to, in a completely non-stalkerish way. However, I'll try not to review two books by the same author in two consecutive issues, so please don't be upset if you have to wait a few months.

If I've already agreed to review a copy of your novel and it doesn’t meet all the above criteria, don't worry, you're still getting your review. I will always notify you immediately if for some reason I'm unable to review your book. That said, if you send me a review request and don't receive a confirmation e-mail in a week or two, please give me a nudge, as something has gone seriously wrong.

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Friday, January 22, 2010

editing, Lacuna, Mirror Dance, review, review policy

I giggle nervously, looking to my right and to my left...

"Meh" verging on "Bleh" review of "All the King's Monsters" from Free SF Reader. Judging from the two word summary, at least my plot was clear.

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Saturday, January 09, 2010

Clarkesworld, review

Lacuna Review

Don Schneider has posted a wonderful review of Lacuna on his website--wonderful here having the dual meanings of thorough and complimentary.

Now, to make a small journey through the looking glass and down the rabbit hole...I have an odd reaction to reviews of my work. Not so much my editing work--honestly, opinion on that seems generally favorable, which makes me giggle and blush like a schoolgirl. Either that, or my critics don't care enough to be vocal.

This, fortunately for my critically oversized ego, is not the case with my fiction. You may (but probably don't) remember my reaction to a disapproving French review of "Winterblood" back in January. Unless you know me personally, or heard the WTF went 'round the world, you don't know my reaction to the reviewer who called "Winterblood" erotica--but I'm sure you can imagine it. The point is, I react to bad reviews. I over-react. I throw tantrums and call reviewers bad names and write nasty letters. I do all of this in the privacy of my own head, of course, or I'd be getting some bad reviews from law enforcement. But I still do it, and I accept the bad reviews as criticism--valid or otherwise--from experts.

And with good reviews? I...don't. I don't dissect them on this blog (though you may be certain I know and care what Midori Snyder said about "The Fawn Prince" and what Erin M. Kinch said about "Grown from Man to Dragon" and my flash fiction in general). Actually, with the two examples above, I barely even consider them reviews, just positive comments...but if they were negative comments, you can bet I would be calling them reviews, and throwing tantrums over them. So why all this attention to the bad and not to the good? Is it because I'm so insecure that I automatically consider any praise for my work to be superficial or uninformed? Or because I'm so egotistical that I take the praise for granted?

Yes, darling, I know I'm brilliant. Tell me again how much you love my style.

Hopefully I fall somewhere between the extremes, accepting compliments graciously, as neither something to take for granted nor my one source of validation. Let's face it, writers, we do think we're brilliant. If we didn't, we wouldn't dare offer our work for publication. At the same time, we do need to know--and, yes, want to know--what we're doing right. It's an erroneous assumption I frequently make when writing rejections, that writers believe they are doing everything perfectly until informed otherwise--but it simply isn't true, and that's why good reviews (and encouraging rejections) are important.

We also need to know what we're doing wrong, and maybe that's why I obsess over bad reviews, airing them everywhere and to everyone. I want to know what I'm doing wrong, and I'm hoping someone will walk up to me and say "This, this and this are what made "Winterblood" feel like erotica," because I sure don't know what did. This brings us back to the "critics as experts" thing. I feel like people who dislike my stories know something I don't, and are refusing to share it with me.

Wow, that was whiny and immature. I'm going to blame it on the cold medicine, okay?

Out of the rabbit-hole again, none of the previous has anything to do with Schneider's review of Lacuna. That told me exactly what I want to know--what works, what needs refining, and what makes people hear Lacuna and think Paradox*. Why don't you check it out, along with the other great reviews on his site?


*Funny story. Since I changed the date of my Lacuna guidelines post to reflect the day Lacuna opened to submissions (June 1)--not the day it was created (March 3)--it appears to many people that I created Lacuna in reaction to Paradox's unfortunate demise. My real reasons were not quite so fitting, so noble, or so egotistical. (Set myself up as the next Chris Cevasco? Blasphemy!) When I created Lacuna, Paradox was alive and well, and Lacuna was no more intended to compete with Paradox than Mirror Dance was with Fantasy Magazine. I expected it to be a side effort to Mirror Dance, perhaps a second chance for stories rejected by Paradox or Solander.

That's not to say I never planned for Lacuna to be as great as I could make it. Simply that I never expected, nor intended, to draw comparisons to Paradox, and I am not in any way seeking to imitate Paradox in my selection of stories or art. I am following my own judgements; if they seem to coincide with those of the late Paradox's editors, fine and dandy, but I am not trying to be Chris Cevasco. No one (least of all Mr. Schneider above) has explicity accused me of doing so, but I can't help the feeling that underneath the many comparisons I have read in blogs and cover letters(!), there is someone wondering just what I'm playing at.

Finally, and most basically, if I was trying to recreate Paradox, I would not have the brass to offer less than half their pay rate. Just saying.

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Wednesday, November 25, 2009

editing, Lacuna, preaching to the invisible choir, review, writing

Palimpsest

This post is spoiler-free.

I've just finished reading Palimpsest by Catherynne Valente, and I honestly can't say just now what I think of it.

Did I enjoy it? Yes, immensely. The word "imaginative" fails to convey the richness of the city Valente has created. The utter strangeness of the creatures and events in Palimpsest makes the author's ability to make them real and concrete in the mind of the reader all the more impressive--and necessary. The four protagonists were interesting--much more so towards the end of the book than at the beginning--but nothing compared to the citizens (I hesitate to say "people") of Palimpsest themselves. The hints of a soon-to-be-revealed violent past behind the city kept me engaged when the plot lagged.

That said, I am a prose reader rather than a story reader--it's not the what that interests me, but the how. Valente has been frequently and deservedly praised for her rich prose. However, there are places where richness becomes unintelligable, or simply silly. An example from page nine:

She balanced one hand--many-ringed--on her hip and jerked her head in the manner of a fox snuffling the air for roasting things.

"Balanced," "snuffling," and "many-ringed" can all be argued, but why on earth would a fox--a wild animal--be interested in cooked meat? This kind of slip is rare, and becomes rarer as the novel progresses, but when the prose is generally so effortless, it's all the more obvious when the author is trying too hard.

So what do I think of Palimpsest? I'm glad I read it, but it won't get a rereading from me. The protagonists, interesting as they were, didn't feel real enough for me to truly invest myself emotionally in their story (I hesitate to say "struggle"), and I don't feel as though there was any deep meaning to dig for the second time through. To be fair, I am also simultaneously rereading The Fountainhead and The Picture of Dorian Gray, so my literary expectations are high. I'd certainly recommend giving Palimpsest a try--at the very least, you'll have a new way of looking at honey bees.

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Saturday, March 28, 2009

fantasy, fiction, reading, recommendations, review, voice

I hope "caraicature" doesn't mean what I think it means!

This blog post may or may not be is a bad review of "Winterblood." My French is, shall we say, très horrible.

(Editor Scott Andrews has kindly provided a translation on the Beneath Ceaseless Skies forum. The last sentence in the review seems to say exactly what I was I was afraid it would say.)

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Friday, January 16, 2009

Beneath Ceaseless Skies, foreign language, review, writing