John Green – The Fault In Our Stars

When deciding on a book to immerse myself in, I often receive many recommendations from a range of sources. Sometimes it may be my friends that urge me to read various books. My dad urged me to read the hilarious Hitch-hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy and also the not-so-hilarious 1984. Ed has urged me to read the more time-consuming books, such as The Luminaries, but also some of the most thought-provoking, such as Lolita and Slaughterhouse-Five. Sav urged me to read My Sister’s Keeper, and as a result I remain the only person in four years to have ever rented this book from the school library.

Sometimes it is cinema that makes me read these books. When I saw that Under The Skin was in cinemas, when I found it was a book, I read it immediately. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and Anna Karenina also provoked this reaction, though the former was too boring to read beyond 150 pages, and having seen the latter, I decided that the film (an extraordinary one, by the way) can be seen without reading the 700-page-classic-Russian novel.

However, neither of these factors stimulated my interest in reading John Green’s most recent novel The Fault In Our Stars, which has received a Twilight-proportionate amount of interest from teenage fangirls. So unsurprisingly, it wasn’t a friend or the recently released film that caused me to read this book: society recommended it to me.

I remember when I first came across the trailer to this film, and seeing that four of my Facebook friends had shared the YouTube link with messages such as ‘OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!’ and ‘SO BEAUTIFUL!!!!! [insert relevant emoticon]’ Ever since that fateful day, not only has it been heavily advertised in every form of media, but has also become a key talking point with many if my friends, and wasn’t helped by my recently-instigated interest in the Vlogbrothers.

So I decided to check out what all the fuss was about, and read the book. Was it good?

Well…I guess.

This wasn’t a viewpoint I wasn’t expecting to have, being surrounded by a public that seems to define this books as the best thing that has happened, and will happen, to literature and people themselves. But hype can have contrasting effects. Sometimes, one will hear of the hype created and immediately increase their standards, as is what generally happens, whether this be a book, a film, an album, whatever. Alternatively, to the more cynical of us, it is assumed that if social media hype something, then it is immediately mainstream/not cool/unsuitable, and thus rubbish, hence standards are lowered. For this particular novel, it was the former. Having seen the trailer and rekindled my almost unhealthy interest in teen/coming-of-age fiction, I will not deny that I was excited about reading it. And whilst I wasn’t disappointed as such, I felt that improvements could have been made.

Firstly, the characters. This story tells the story of Hazel and Augustus, two cancer-stricken teenagers who fall in love. Now, some may be against the fact that I have decided two describe the two as ‘cancer-stricken’, which is understandable. I read one description that this books was about two people with cancer, but ‘is not about cancer’. Whilst it is clear that Green works very hard to distance cancer from the relationship itself, as it should be, it still acts as an incredibly strong obstacle, and so cancer is always discussed, or implied, and whilst it may not play a specific part in the events occurring, it is always present. For example, near the beginning, Hazel is asked to tell her story, and she begins with ‘I was diagnosed when I was thirteen…’ This causes Augustus to interrupt and ask her to tell her ‘true’ story, but it shows that cancer is a particularly prevalent theme of the novel. which kind of defeats the point of not being ‘about cancer’. In hindsight, it seems that Green has meant for this to happen, but when trying to focus on a relationship, cancer is always mentioned and intrudes on whatever is happening. Whilst some may consider this necessary, it did hinder my enjoyment of the book as a whole.

Secondly, metaphors. This book is very poetic, though not a Lolita-kind-of-poetic (Lolita. Love of my life. Fire of my loins. My sin. My soul. Lolita.). That was poetic in a more literary sense, making reading it almost like reading an anthology, and an effervescently beautiful one of them. The Fault In Our Stars is poetic for the purpose of meaning rather than literature, hence the ridiculous amount of metaphors, ranging in success from the powerful to the downright absurd. An example is the fact that Augustus, despite being in remission from cancer, still carries cigarettes and always has one in his mouth, but never lights it.

‘You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don’t give it the power to do its killing.’

This particular metaphor, undoubtedly the most prevalent of them all, has generated hugely contrasting opinions, from those who consider it to be the leading message of the novel, to those who think it to be a meagre attempt by Green to create meaning. Personally, I am not too sure. I appreciate that it is a clever metaphor, given their dire situations, however you easily get tired of it when it is cigarettes are put in mouths every other page. I guess metaphors are only really there to enable people to think about it, so think as you like.

Thirdly – and, granted, this is being petty – inconsistency. Nothing to do with the science or anything, but more specifically the language of Hazel and Augustus. Hazel always mentions that her parents wish she could live like a normal teenager (her excuse whenever she enters the typical hormonal strop of any 15-year-old). However, she speaks very eloquently when talking about certain topics, such as her favourite book, An Imperial Affliction (which, if you’re interested, doesn’t exist in real life, and thus neither does the epigraph at the beginning), but not so eloquently about other topics, generally smalltalk. Similarly, Augustus writes extremely eloquently, as shown by his letters, and also speaks very eloquently when discussing his metaphors. However, there are stints where he speaks like a typical teenager. Whilst it might be Green’s attempt to highlight interests, passion, wonder etc., it seems odd how the style of speech can jump quite quickly, thus confusing me a bit.

Despite these three factors, which admittedly did hinder my admiration of the book, I still found the book very enjoyable to read. It may have been the curiosity of what could happen to them, given that their days were numbered. Or it could have been the fact that you are always rooting for them regarding their cancer battles, which make the characters seem more tangible than fiction, which is always important. Or it could be that I read the entire book whilst listening to Badly Drawn Boy’s The Hour Of Bewilderbeast (brilliant, and also relevant in places. I strongly recommend it).

Anyway, in conclusion, if you are looking for a friendly, quick Summer read, then The Fault In Our Stars is a great book for you, and I’m very open to disagreements, so I’d be interested to hear any of your own opinions.

If you have read it, or are for some reason desperately trying to avoid this book:

-For a coming-of-age novel, read The Perks Of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky.

-For a cancer-related novel, read My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult.

Alternatively, just listen to Badly Drawn Boy, okay?

Okay…

 

A New Poetic Dimension

Every year, my primary school held a verse-speaking competition within each year. At that time, my attention span was about as short as I was, and I was living in a period where what was ‘cool’ was clearly defined. Thus, an annual poetry reciting competition was something none of us were particularly keen on by any means. However, two YouTube videos have reopened my eyes, and along with my further appreciation of poetry that joins my attempt at being a ‘culture-vulture’, I have now seen what was so special about spoken word poetry.

The first of these is a stunning performance by Neil Hilborn at ‘Button Poetry’, a Minnesota-based organisation promoting spoken word poetry. The poem is entitled ‘OCD’ and is about a man with this disorder who falls madly enough, and has been copied into the post here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnKZ4pdSU-s). The other is a Ted talk by a Sarah Kay, who seems to have taken the role as an advocate for spoken word poetry (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0snNB1yS3IE). Citing Hilborn’s performance in particular, as the first video filming spoken word itself that I watched, what really struck me was how powerful his story, his emotions, even his head movements were. This talent enabled a truly vivid picture to be painted.

And this is what has really attracted me further to the idea of spoken word poetry. Poetry itself is great: Wilfred Owen, Dante Rossetti, T.S Eliot, Dr Seuss, love them. But when poetry is a collection of words printed onto a piece of paper, the imagery and thoughts created by the poem are only what you can conjure up in your own mind. A poem being read out provides an almost third dimension to a poem, as whilst you can still hear the words and create your own images, someone else is donating an entirely new aspect to it This is what seems to make analysis of spoken word poetry a particularly rigorous discipline, yet also ever more fascinating.

There is one, however, quite common aspect of many spoken word poems, and that is that they contain huge amounts of indignancy. Take these videos: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Wf8y_5Yn4, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5frn8TAlew0, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFPWwx96Kew, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2Ks06Al8c0. Whilst all of these performances are extremely powerful and demonstrate huge amounts of raw talent, they all seem to focus on one topic: hate. They seem to try and spread messages that, whilst prevalent in our society, are over-exaggerated and even violent in some cases. Just take these videos: black boys being more vulnerable than others, JK Rowling discriminates against Chinese people, and apparently society has not fully reacted to this ‘revolutionary idea of homosexuality ( in fact, if you do decide to browse spoken word poetry on YouTube, you will be surprised about how much homosexuality is expressed as a topic of choice).

The fact is, I understand that spoken word poetry is being all revolutionary and thought-provoking, but can this not be done by a more light-hearted means? I understand that many spoken word poets use this art form, in the same way that Orwell used his literature for political means, but this just shows how present this indignancy is.

Fortunately for me at least, spoken word poems for the sake of its inherent ‘beauty’ are easily found, with two of the big players in this ‘category’ being Sarah Kay, as mentioned, and Phil Kaye, who act as collaborators (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdJ6aUB2K4g). Phil Kaye also did a lesser publicised Ted talk (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7fWagDQyvg) where he speaks about storytelling. Interestingly enough, both have cited ‘storytelling’ as a reason for pursuing this art form. Given how powerful this form of speaking is, is it not a brilliant grounds on which to spread stories? Whether they be about love, hate, family etc., poetry in this form offers a gateway for the creation of more abstract thought which I, personally, find fascinating in itself.

Anyway, those are my views on what I am finding to be a brilliant new and undiscovered art form. Spoken word poetry can be found very easily on YouTube, but here are a couple more of my favourite videos:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tv00xjClbx0 – This is a poem by two girls, one Jewish and one Muslim, about growing up separated by culture.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSHnnPunShg – Whilst indignant, this poem is nonetheless powerful and thought provoking, as any good poem is. And this Youtuber is quite funny as well, so yeah…

Enjoy!

Hunger Games? Nah mate, I’m pretentious now

Hi guys,

This idea seems to precede every single one of my posts, but sorry for the lack of writing again. However, the fact is that I’ve been very busy pretending to be a deep and profound person.

When I began this blog in particular, I made it my goal to try and immerse myself in all kinds of thought-provoking subjects, so that alongside my science-based A-levels I would be able to continue reading fiction and listening to music. And to an extent, it has sort of worked. I’ve read a decent sized amount of plotless literature (which forces you to think, lest you realise that you have spent the last two months reading about very unfortunate men) and I am trying to open myself up to French film and the like.

Therefore, for me to simply analyse how far I have gone, I am writing this post, where I plan to see what I have been doing with the purpose of becoming some sort of hipster, or whatever terminology has been coined to describe it. And I plan to do this in three different ways:

1) Literature

I remember the days in Years 8 and 9 where I would devour books like Mars bars, and would ignore friends on the way home in order to give me time to feed my compulsion for these books. You’d think this was great. Alas, it was the Cherub series.

And this is my pet peeve about literature at the moment, particularly that which is relevant to younger people. When surrounded by huge series such as Cherub (which consists of 16 books), Percy Jackson and The Hunger Games, kids will read nothing apart from the books of these series, without realising that every single book, bar none, is exactly the same, except with a different bad guy, in a different country and, in Cherub’s case, a different girl to have underage sex with.

 

It has take me quite a while to realise this, but of all my favourite books (except for The Hitch-hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy), none of them are members of a series. After all, it seems that a series would overall cumulate into a single story in itself. How is a brilliant book by a brilliant author supposed to leave plotholes or threads leading onto some sort of sequel. You never hear of the story about Snowball, from Animal Farm, founding his own ‘farm’ to combat the harsh regime of Napoleon. Humbert Humbert never tried to find himself another 12-year-old girl to lust over following Lolita running away. In fact Vladimir Nabokov had to create an entire backstory explaining the deaths of both Mr Humbert and Lolita prior to the publishing of the book.

Here is where the true issue of a series lies. If you provide a computer with some sort of algorithm, then it can plug out some sort of teenage vampire/spy/dystopian novel. Classic literature cannot be replicated. If you have ever analysed a book for an exam, you will realise (or bullshit your way into saying) that every single word has a meaning behind it which would contribute to scene-setting or character development. In Homer’s Iliad, if you study it in the original Greek, one could even go as far as to discussing the importance of word order or the sound of word. Whilst this may seem annoyingly picky, it is what makes proper literature so magical, and that is something unachievable within a novel like a Cherub book.

2) Film

Of the three means of pretentiousness which I have sought to discuss here, film is the one in which I am least developed. I don’t watch to many films, unless other people want to. I don’t follow directors in the same way that other people do. I don’t even know how to download films illegally. This has left me painfully behind in the world of cinema, having never viewed such classics as Shawshank Redemption or Pulp Fiction. I even used to think that Brokeback Mountain was a Vietnam-War film (which I realised a bit too late to save my dignity). And my favourite film is still Ratatouille, and it always will be.

 

 

 

However, following the commencement of awards season last January, I have been trying to view films in the same way which I now view books; taking them much less at face value and discussing the underlying meaning. In those two months prior to the Oscars I watched a plotless film about a struggling musician in the 1960s folk scene (Inside Llewyn Davis, amazing), a film about a man falling in love with an operating system (Her, amazing) and a historical drama that made me want to kill all the white people (12 Years A Slave, still amazing). I even found myself searching desperately for someone who wanted to watch Nebraska, a black and white film about an old guy wishing to walk across the US to ‘claim ma million dollas’.

There’s been French film as well. I was totally mesmerised after watching Les Choristes (The Chorus) in French class, one of the most extraordinary films I have ever seen. This led me on to Trois Coleurs: Bleu (incredible), Intouchable (utterly incredible) and Tomboy (complete crap). Leading on from that, I never expected that I would find a French film so poor. I guess that is another thing that can be gained from analysing film in this way. Even if you try desperately to like a film, you can still realise when it turns into a terrible film.

 

 

Directors are another thing about cinophiles that always confused me. Prior to awards season, I had heard of the Wachowskis (from Cloud Atlas, not The Matrix), and that was essentially that. However, awards season has since enabled me to track the styles of various directors, in the same way that musicians can be spotted from their style. The Coen Brothers can be spotted, possible, by their focus on 60’s folk music. Wes Anderson can be spotted by his quirkiness and keenness for perpendicular viewpoints, with the actor staring directly into the camera. Pixar can be spotted by the fact that they always use cartoons…

3) Music

Ah music. Despite the fact that music is my favourite of these three points, I will limit my ramblings, lest I find myself unable to cease writing.

My main point with bringing up music is that it is the only one where I can accept that taste is totally personal. There are some songs which I might find so beautiful I find myself on the brink of tears (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IgPXKDxMzw, and you’ll see what I mean) and there are some songs that don’t change anything. However, it can easily be appreciated that some may think the opposite. Whilst this preposterous idea is inconceivable to me, nonetheless it is true.

Before I continue, I’d just like to say that P!nk and Olly Murs are the two exceptions to this rule. If you don’t think so then I’m very sorry, but you are wrong.

Right, back to my point.

So yeah, music is music. Random waves of energy being comprehended by our brains god-knows-how, and as Shakespeare said: ‘If music be the food of love, play on’. Music is subjective and this should be not only understood but encouraged. Surprisingly, it is something that takes a while to get fully comfortable with though. Some classical music fans will brand rock music as ‘bland and tasteless’, and Megadeth as ‘marijuana-fuelled white noise’. Likewise, some of these people may brand classical music as old-fashioned.

Some of you may think me a hypocrite for saying this, but it drives me up the wall, not with what music is ‘right’, but with what music is ‘wrong’. I find it tremendously silly when people brand huge genres of music as ‘crap’ and ban themselves from enjoying it. It seems unfortunately simple-minded.

And that may be the overall thought to be taken from this post as a whole. Open-mindedness is generally a positive characteristic to possess, and I can say with confidence that if you look at it in the right light, something beautiful will come of it. Maybe  it begins by picking up that old CD which your dad plays in the car, or that Vintage Classic which looks a bit too long and fancy to be enjoyable. Provided that it is approached in the best possible way, you’ll have a whale of a time.

Homer’s Iliad

Never did the idea of reviewing a work of the sort of calibre and stature as the Iliad ever even cross my mind.

Considering this overly keen and excited attitude, it was striking how many people I came across whilst reading the Iliad who had never even heard of it, so I do feel it necessary to provide a brief overview. The Iliad is the first epic poem of two by the legendary Greek poet Homer, the other being the Odyssey. It is a 24-book, 500 page roller coaster set within the final weeks of the Siege of Troy, a city thought to be part of Northern Turkey, by the Greek forces. However, when Achilles, the god-like hero of the Greek forces, refuses to fight having been insulted by the Greek leader Agamemnon, the Greeks turn onto the back foot, until the untimely death of Achilles’ close friend Patroclus, which alters the course of the siege.

Studying this work in the original work, as I have done, has a surprisingly profound effect on the reader’s view of the work (which is interesting, as it wasn’t written down until almost 300 years after Homer’s death, having previously been spread by bards). This initial method of the disclosure of the story has, nonetheless had an equally profound effect on the stylistic techniques used by Homer. He write in a meter called ‘iambic hexameter’, which consists of six ‘parts’ per line, each containing two or three syllables, which totals up to a total number which is normally reflective of the speed of the scene in question. (Any students of Shakespeare may be knowledgeable of his own meter, ‘iambic pentameter’, which consists of five ‘parts’).

Also, as it was originally made to be told by bards, Homer has been left with the seemingly impossible task of setting scenery not only through part length, but also through many other aspects, namely vocabulary and even sound of word. Often, a scene of death may be partnered with a particularly violent sound, such as that of a sword, merged into his choice of word, which makes it all the more magical to study in the original Greek. Even word order played a part, where a certain position would place emphasis on the word of Homer’s choice.

T0 sum up the last few paragraphs, for a student of literature or language, Homer’s Iliad has its aspects of interest even before you consult the story itself. However, considering that my A-level Classical Greek class consists of one other person, it is appreciated that the Iliad would be read in English, as I did over half term. So here is my take on a review of one of the forefronts of Western literature.

Remember what I said about the death of Patroclus? It struck me that this incident, which many would describe as the pivotal event of the Siege of Troy, occurred in Book 16, about 300 pages into the book. Promised with the prospect of raging chaos caused by the wrath of Achilles upon the poor Trojan soldiers, this seemed to be a bit of a let down. With various plot points mixed in, such as the final meeting between the Trojan hero, Hektor, and his wife Andromache (a beautiful scene in Book 6) and an attempt to persuade Achilles to fight in Book 9, unfortunately, not much really happened, other than various skirmishes of varying success.

These long expanses of almost dreary warfare often act as a way of describing the war among the gods. Whilst Hera (queen of the gods) and Poseidon (king of the sea) support the Greek forces (referred to as ‘Achaeans’ throughout the poem), Aphrodite (goddess of beauty) and Ares (goddess of war) support the Trojans. Throughout the entire Iliad, every stab of the spear or toss of a javelin is monitored and altered by the gods fighting for each side, which almost provides an entirely new take on the story as a disagreement between the Olympian gods. It would mean that ultimately, regardless of the strength of Trojan Hektor or Greek Achilles, this fight would be sorted out by the gods themselves.

However, despite my idea of ‘dreary warfare’, these parts prior to the death of Patroclus are dotted with strokes of literary genius on Homer’s account. The parting of Hektor and Andromache (which provides an edge of inspiration for the play ‘Trojan Women’ by Euripides) not only shows the paternal side to Hektor (who is often referred to using the epithet ‘man-slaying’), it also emphasises the effects of war on the observers, namely the women. Here, the focus is concentrated on members of Hektor’s family, such as Andromache and Hecabe (his mother), who is the protagonist of Euripides’ play. Scenes like this have also regarded points of view which may have been more central to Homer himself, here regarding the idea of pacifism and the horrors of war.

This theme of the horrors of war also has its interests for the modern historian. The other day, I attended a fascinating lecture at Manchester University entitled ‘Homeric Mud in the Trenches’, which concerned the on-running theme of mud and dirt within both the Iliad and World War I. It’s interesting because the speaker mentioned classically trained students in Britain (picture Hugh Laurie’s character of Lieutenant George in the fourth series of Blackadder) who were blinded by the idea ‘Dulce et Decorum est; pro Patria mori’ (It is sweet and proper to do for one’s country), which may have provided a thought of dying a glorious death on battlefields kissed by the sun of ‘rosy-fingered dawn’ (another Homeric epithet).

However, the theme of mud may counter this idea, as a use of mud is the elimination of glory, not the creation. In Book 21, Achilles has a battle against the River Scamander, which he fills with the blood of the Trojan soldiers who he has slaughtered. The river, speaking as a god, threatens to flood Achilles, drowning him in mud so deep that no trace of his bones or armour would be found. The thought of an improper burial of the Greek hero Achilles would have been extremely damaging for the Greeks, especially as Patroclus’ dying wish had been for Achilles’ ashes to be mixed with his own after death. Here, mud does not signify glory at all, as implied by these naive scholars of Classics, but does the total opposite.

One other aspect of Homer’s masterpiece that really defines the work is the characters; both the number of them and their personalities. This story takes place in the ‘Golden Age’ long before the era of Classical Athens, where the gods and god-like figures lived among mortals. But these characters, and Homer’s representation of them, is a definite theme for debate.

Whilst this may not be Homer’s purpose, it seems to me that the Trojans are seen as the victims, whereas the Greeks are more powerful, mainly due to the presence of Achilles. Because of this, there is a certain air of arrogance amongst the Greeks (except in Book 15, when the Trojans bring down the walls of the Greek camp). Achilles is a prime example.

In my opinion, Achilles is an utter prick.

This idea was established right at the beginning and still held strong after Book 24. Achilles refuses to fight, in full knowledge that the Greeks cannot overpower the Trojans without his ‘superpowers’, simply because Agamemnon lashed out at him a bit. So he sits in the camp with his ‘friend’ Patroclus whilst the soldiers, with reliance on Achilles, are dying at the hands of the Trojans. (I put ‘friend’ in apostrophes because he is a horrible friend who takes Patroclus for granted. Mind you, Patroclus is as weak as you would expect him to be, until he starts fighting in Book 16). Patroclus’ fighting was actually instigated by Achilles again, who convinced him to go out with his armour, meaning that people would mistake him for Achilles and morale would rise. However, Achilles wasn’t thinking about Hektor and Euphorbus, another Trojan, who finished him off after he had killed over 50 men. But the way in which Achilles puts Patroclus at risk in this way is, to me, truly disgusting. In fact, Achilles’ arrogant and angry character is left unblemished until Book 24, where it involves Priam, the Trojan king, who is mourning the death of all of his sons, who had all been killed by Achilles, including god-like Hektor, hero of the Trojans. It takes a grieving old man who is upset only due to the actions of Achilles, to make Achilles show the slightest sliver of empathy.

Yet it seems to be a different story for the Trojans. Take Hektor as an example. Throughout the Iliad (as within this post), Hektor is referred to as ‘god-like’, but his immortality is also stressed, being the son of two mortals (unlike Achilles, who was son of the nymph Thetis). His portrayal by the other Trojans offers his original character as the only possible saviour of his beloved Troy. Yet along with this, the paternal love he expresses for his young son, Astaianax, and his wife and mother shows his side whilst off the battlefield. In Book 6, Homer mentions that Astaianax shrunk away from Hektor when he was wearing his plumed helmet, yet when he removed it, he held his child. This shows that Hektor the hero is almost a different person to Hektor the father. And whilst all of the aspects of Achilles’ character imply nastiness, Hektor’s characteristics only resonate positivity.

In conclusion (to what is probably the longest post I’ve done by a good 600 lines), this masterpiece is full of content and subtext which is fascinating for debate and discussion. It is unsurprising that within the Oxford University Classics course, 20% of the first year is spent studying this book alone. Whilst it may not agree for everyone at this very moment, it is a truly important book that I profoundly believe ought to be read by everybody. So I strongly suggest that at some point in the near future, you read Homer’s Iliad. It may seem slow at first, but persevere, for the overall result is phenomenal.

The Anti-War Novel

Considering my, frankly, disastrous form in terms of posting here, due to the fact that I have spent a month in Israel,  I’d like to apologize and say that I shall be writing here much more frequently as of today and, luckily, I have plenty to write about. But what I write about today will be about something a little different to my holidays. Enjoy!

Over the past week or so, I have been engaged in a book that was recommended to me by my friend Ed (who recommends most of the stuff I read to be honest, making me look a bit odd). It was called Slaughterhouse-Five, by an American writer called Kurt Vonnegut. The blurb described it as ‘the most original anti-war novel since Catch-22’ and Joseph Heller, the author of Catch-22 himself, described this novel as ‘a work of keen literary artistry’. So undoubtedly, I was expecting a  book that would live up to its expectations.

However, when I finally put the book down yesterday afternoon, I was left with mixed feelings about it. Whilst being a highly interesting novel with lots of literary technique and entertaining scenes, it was clear to me that this was a very ‘arty’ book, in terms of saying that it goes out of its way, thus making it look particularly confusing, for the purpose of developing meaning. And this is exactly what is done here. The blurb (I know I keep referring to it. I did read the book) begins by saying, ‘Prisoner-of-war, optometrist, time-traveller – these are the life roles of Billy Pilgrim…’ And this doesn’t even mention the fact that he is abducted by aliens by a planet millions of miles away, with the name Tralfamadore. This is truly not your typical novel.

Yet when I put the book down and ran through all the random plots and sub-plots (it is random due to Pilgrim’s spontaneous and involuntary time-travelling throughout his life) in my head, it all made sense. And although this does not characterise an anti-war novel, it is a common characteristic.

Let us use Catch-22 as an example. Firstly, what is a Catch-22? A Catch-22 is a situation where no favourable outcome is possible due to contradictory rules. Here is an example:

A university graduate goes into a job interview as he wants to gain some experience. However, the interviewer will not hire him as he does not have any experience. In this situation, the only way in which the graduate can be hired is if he had the job already, as he would need the experience.

The situation in Catch-22 is a little more complex. It is a fact in the army (Catch-22 happens amongst American soldiers in the US Air Force after they invaded Italy in 1943) that if you are crazy, you cannot fly the planes. If you know that you are crazy, all you need to do is tell the commander that you are crazy, and you will be demobilised and sent home. However, here is where the twist comes in. By telling someone you are crazy, with the full knowledge that you will be sent home, you are showing that you have concerns for your safety; evidence of a rational mind. Therefore you are not crazy and have to stay. Here, it is impossible to leave the army without proving that you have to stay in the army. This example of a logical paradox is now commonly known as a ‘Catch-22’.

One idea relayed in Catch-22 seems to be echoed in all anti-war novel, and that is the idea of insanity. In Catch-22, it seems to become clear quite early on that only someone insane would fly a plane, thus indicating that anyone who says they are not insane is actually insane. In Slaughterhouse-Five, this idea is mentioned too. In his old age, Pilgrim becomes increasingly unable to live life by himself, and he needs the assistance of his daughter, Barbara, who treats him like a childish invalid. When she makes her first appearance in the book, she says, ‘Father, father, father…what are we going to do with you?’ This seems to be a perfect example of insanity, as specified in both novels.

And  this is what really makes an anti-war novel. From the first chapter, it is made clear that one thing that caused Pilgrim’s insanity was the night when Dresden, a German city, was bombed and destroyed (as a matter of interest, according to the book, 71,739 people were killed at Hiroshima, but around 135,000 people were killed in Dresden). Pilgrim spends this night in the slaughterhouse with the other prisoners-of-war, which provides an excellent bomb shelter for him.

What these anti-war novels do is ignore the glory of war and replace it with the true effects that war has, not only concerning the people who have been killed, but also those who weren’t killed. We are endlessly told about all of the soldiers who suffered shell shock after World War One, and we learn to sympathise. This is what a good anti-war novel does and, gladly, this is what Slaughterhouse-Five does.

So it goes…

Two Movies About Magic

Over the last two days, I have watched two very different films. The first is the highly-advertised thriller ‘Now You See Me’ starring Jesse Eisenberg (The Social Network), Isla Fisher (The Great Gatsby) and the guy from the new (comparatively awful) series of Scrubs. The second, called ‘L’illusioniste’ is a French animation set during the 1950s, where any words are heavily accented and cannot be comprehended. However, despite their major differences, I, personally, found both films particularly entertaining.

First of all, let’s focus on Now You See Me’. This film concerns a group of four magicians who use their magic skills to rob banks and return money to people, with the intention of becoming part of a highly elite group of magicians known as ‘The Eye’, whilst being constantly hunted by various groups, including the FBI. This was the first thing that I noticed about the film; after the eye was introduced about half way through, the whole plot seemed to be thrown off guard. Probably, this was due to a failure to fully explain the role of this group, and considering the fact that it explains the entire film, it is still something that one finds hard to pick up in the cinema, and so has to look up the plot on Wikipedia. Never really a good characteristic in a film.

However, apart from this letdown, overall, I found this film highly entertaining. I was really excited about this film and am lucky to have seen it before I leave for my holidays (explaining why I ended up seeing the hilariously dreadful This Is The End). Firstly, Morgan Freeman stars, which immediately makes any film great. Secondly, and probably most obviously, were the fantastic effects. As this show was magic-based, if they could not really focus on them and make them brilliant, the whole film will have been doomed. Fortunately, this did not happen, and we were treated to some great cinematography (It’s probably the only time where I wished I could have seen it in 3D).

But let us move to a total opposite concerning this French film, ‘L’illusioniste’. (Watch the trailer here – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHVG1JmbU30). This contains a more simplistic version of magic, concerning an illusionist. (Frankly, if the blokes at Now You See Me had made the actors pull rabbits out of hats, their audience would not be particularly impressed). But this film is not ‘about’ magic but, rather, a story of love and hope.

It was a truly beautiful film. Due to the lack of script, the noise was given by a single piano. The composer, Sylvain Chomet, (who also directed the film), really used this to his advantage in terms of setting the scene, which led to the amplification of emotions. Take the last scene. I have only ever cried in one film (Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, I’m Jewish so I believe it was pretty reasonable. And for the record, I’ve never seen Bambi), yet when the last piece of music was played, despite the fact that the scene itself would not have been that sad, I was on the verge of blubbing like a baby. And this is what I great film does, so Monsieur Chomet deserves full credit.

Watching these films within a day of each other just shows how various cinema can truly be. What this shows, for me, is how difficult it is to effectively group films with titles such as ‘Fairytale’ or ‘Princess films’. Think about, the typical fairytale story is one involving some Prince Charming and a beautiful girl, probably having to succumb to some evil woman, who fall madly in love and ‘live happily ever after’. However, not every fairytale film even contains all these nice things, never mind ends ‘happily ever after’.

My Factless Autobiography

Morning all!

Welcome to my new blog; The Factless Autobiography! I’m Dan Jacobson, and I’m a 16-year-old Briton from Manchester, UK.

Considering that you, the reader, are currently reading this monumental introductory page, you may be under the consideration of, hopefully, returning to this page in the near future. But what will you be reading then? Here’s the answer.

I have not the foggiest clue.

Having administered two failed blogs previous to this, I am fully aware that it is unwise to embark on this kind of voyage without as much as a theme. However, I’m treating this blog as much of a benefit to me as it may be to you. Whilst I will be posting various thoughts on new films or albums, which the reader may take an interest in, from the point of view of the reader, this will also be an opportunity with me to converse, with myself thus, concerning my own personal interests and studies. Next academic year, I will be beginning sixth form college, where I hope to be studying Mathematics, Further Mathematics, Chemistry, Biology and Classical Greek, and I profoundly believe that writing about these subjects will enable a certain understanding of the subject, which I hope will be beneficial to me and, possibly, to you.

You may also be wondering about this blog’s title. ‘What is the name for? It’s awfully depressing, isn’t it?’ I hear you cry. Well, even if you are not, this will be a fine opportunity to express some of my hard-earned wisdom. ‘The Factless Autobiography’ is the first of two volumes from ‘The Book of Disquiet’, by the Portuguese author Fernando Pessoa. This book is interesting in that it is considered, by Pessoa, to be an ‘autobiography’ about a Portuguese bookkeeper called Bernardo Soares. This provides an immediate paradox, in that Pessoa can only write an autobiography about himself, otherwise it would simply be a ‘biography’. However, Pessoa considers Soares to be a ‘mutation’ of himself, and Pessoa has used this book as an opportunity to write about his own life, where he essentially writes his own diary. It is referred to as ‘factless’ due to the lack of plot and meaning throughout this volume. Although this does not follow the path towards an international bestseller, it seems to have parallels with this blog itself. Whilst Pessoa’s/Soares’ life is devoid of a meaning, it agrees with this ‘themeless’ blog, in that anything could appear here. One may call this, simply, as my own e-version of Pessoa’s masterpiece.

Although I have had a history on WordPress, I have never quite got the hand of various points, such as aesthetic pleasure, but I hope that these concerns will be resolved soon. I have a long Summer ahead, and I will certainly find something to do!

Anyway, I’d like to thank you again for reaching this blog, and I hope that the next posts promise something entertaining and stimulating for you all.

Au revoir!