Would You Say I Had a Plethora of Piñatas?

A while back I read Nick Mamatas' (that's nihilistic_kid to you folks) Move Under Ground and liked it more than I expected to. Being a guy who doesn't much care for Lovecraft and knows next to nothing about the Beats, I was wary. But the first chapter hooked me in--from a Kerouac self-exiled in the Pacific Northwest to a mad dash to the ocean to find the world has changed, it's a beautifully constructed opening. The entire book is a great trip, through deadly jazz clubs to infected cities to office temples to Nameless Ones, all from Kerouac's fractured viewpoint, with William S. Burroughs riding shotgun. I meant to blog about that book at the time, but I never got to it. (BTW, if you're not convinced to buy the book, you can download it free under a Creative Commons license here.)

Which brings us to Under My Roof, Nick's new short (I read it in an afternoon) novel. It concerns Herbert Weinberg and his family: his father, who enlists Herbert's help to build a small nuclear device and then declares independence from the United States, establishing the nation of Weibergia in his home and lawn; and his mother, who tries rather unsuccessfully to strike media oil from the ensuing international custody battle. There's that, but there's also the matter of the other confused citizens of Weinbergia (mostly immigrants), the U.S. Army trying to contain them, and the many other splinter nations inspired by the Weinbergs. We get all of their stories because Herbert is a powerful psychic, see. He knows what you're thinking. Mamatas tempers his parody with Herbert's unflappable narration, disguising a blueprint for an anarchist future (the opening chapter is essentially a recipe for building your own nuclear bomb) as a coming-of-age story. In fact, as Herbert sees it, they're the same thing. At times I felt like there were too many characters for me to keep track of in Under My Roof, and I wonder a little how it might have read with a narrator a bit more angry than Herbert, but this is a very thought-provoking and entertaining read.

Other cool stuff:

At the DC site, you can read a preview of Cecil Castellucci's graphic novel The PLAIN Janes. It looks pretty damn cool.

Speaking of cool comics, Nextwave went out with a bang. This was one of my favorite comics ever; not many folks can put together something that's simultaneously makes fun of and has fun with all the mad excesses of mainstream superhero comics. Warren Ellis taunts his readers mercilessly for knowing reams of useless facts about the Marvel Universe, all the while grinning behind his hand because he couldn't have written it if he wasn't just as bad. (Quoth he: "It's an absolute distillation of the superhero genre. No plot lines, characters, emotions, nothing whatsoever. It's people posing in the street for no good reason. It is people getting kicked, and then exploding. It is a pure comic book, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise. And afterwards, they will explode.") It's hilarious, mean-spirited and gloriously random. Stuart Immonen's art does so much of the work on its own that Ellis almost seems speechless at times; the visual gags in issue 11 had me scraping my jaw off the floor. Also, Elsa Bloodstone is my secret girlfriend. The comic ran 12 issues and is done, but it'll come out in trades, so watch for that. (In fact the first six issues are already collected.)

Other reading: I plowed through The Tale of Despereaux: Being the Story of a Mouse, a Princess, Some Soup and a Spool of Thread, and it wasn't bad, although I wish the princess hadn't been a saintly luminous creature and the serving-girl an idiot whose shortcomings get played for laughs. Also the narrative voice was a bit precious at times. I know, I know, I'm not between the ages of 7-12. But.

Go here to read and see. Artist Glen Angus's two-year-old-son was recently diagnosed with autism, and in Wisconsin there's a lengthy waiting list for government aid to cover treatment. He's not asking for donations, but you could write a letter to the governor. The illustration he put up is just heartbreaking.

Meghan told me I had to read Naomi Novik. (She's not the only one, but she's the one I finally listened to, so I'm giving her props.) I'm two-thirds of the way through His Majesty's Dragon and it's really impressive. Moves fast, intriguing, with a really sweet relationship between dragon and human. Echoes of McCaffrey, yes (as well as AD&D), but not in a she-ripped-that-off way. Really deserving of the attention, and that's not something you'll hear me say about much mainstream fantasy.

Yesterday I talked Kiljoong into seeing Tears of the Black Tiger, a Thai western which has apparently been kicking around festivals for six or seven years and is finally out (here in Chicago, at least) in a subtitled version. Imagine if John Woo and John Waters collaborated to film a John Ford western, in Technicolor, with a Thai cast and orchestra riffing off Morricone scores. It's high melodrama, and much of it is hilariously over-the-top, although amidst all the gun-fu I found the love story surprisingly affecting. Check it out if you can find it.

Oh, and finally: SLOTHS! (Mainly for Richard, of course, although I suspect he's seen it by now.)

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Today is Pulaski Day, a holiday you've probably not heard of unless you've lived in Chicago at some point, or bought a Sufjan Stevens record. Cas Pulaski was a cavalry officer in the Revolutionary War, and someone at some point decided to give him a holiday at the ass-end of winter. It's a big deal here in Chicago because, depending on who you talk to, there are either almost as many or more Poles here than in Warsaw. CUT TO a crowd of Poles huddled together for warmth along the parade route, waving Polish and American flags and saying through chattering teeth, "Lu-lu-lucky us."

When I moved here and first encountered Pulaski Day I thought it was something people were making up. Which begs the question of which imaginary holiday should actually become a holiday, for really real.

[Poll #940638]