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Lottie disney bookworm (1056 KP) rated The Winter Duke in Books
Oct 13, 2020
A duchy of ice and snow above, a duchy of water and magic below, separated only by a lake of ice. Both dependent upon one another and both as violent as they are beautiful.
Ekata is a middle child within the Avenko royal family: a family who are intent on murdering each other to get to the throne. However, Ekata has no interest in the throne at all: her interests lie in biology rather than brokering treaties and she wants nothing more than to leave Kylma Above and attend university.
However, at the age of thirteen, Ekata wakes to find herself the only member of her family who has not been cursed into a permanent sleep. Suddenly, she is the Grand Duke and is expected to prove herself worthy to rule Kylma Above: conquering the world of politics and magic in order to find a way to wake her family and avoid death herself.
The Winter Duke spans only six days in its storyline. Nonetheless, this does not diminish the journey that Bartlett takes her readers on: there are twists at every turn and almost everyone seems like a villain; neither Ekata nor the reader knows whom they can trust.
Although this is very much Ekata’s story, there are so many characters surrounding her that there is a danger some of these may seem undeveloped. Thankfully, I didn’t feel this way at all. Bartlett brings something different to each character she introduces: from Sigis’ immediate repulsiveness; Eirhan’s deadpan nature and Inkar’s flirty charms. All the characters have their part to play and, although keeping track of all the ministers could be difficult at times, this only added to the overwhelming suffocation that Ekata must be feeling.
Ekata herself is an amazing protagonist: at just thirteen she makes a number of impulsive decisions which end disastrously – so why do we, as a reader, not get frustrated with her? Again, I feel that this is due, in part, to the dizzying number of secondary characters. The reader witnesses the sheer number of commitments that fall onto the shoulders of one who never aspired to this role: we attend unwanted proposals; hear the accusations of murdering her own family; comprehend that she is used as a pawn by her Prime Minister and constantly see Ekata’s authority undermined due to her sex. It is impossible not to empathise with her desperate need to return to her normal life.
Sexism plays a large part in Ekata’s story, with Sigis immediately heralded as the solution to her problems due to his position as a strong man with an army. Inkar is also underestimated due to being female: before she then shatters these perceptions with her axes, her willingness to fight and her protective nature over Ekata.
However, The Winter Duke has to be commended for the gender fluidity within its pages. The brideshow is made of men and women, at least one minister is non-binary and the only romance within this novel is between two queer females. This was such a natural romance as well, slow-burning and cautious due to the politics involved but one that, when the walls of both women came down, could achieve the impossible.
The world building by Claire Eliza Bartlett in this novel is second to none. Kylma Above is impressive with its ice palaces and winter roses invading every corner. However, Kylma Below, the duchy below the ice is magical and sinister in equal measure. With fields of magic, sharks used in tribunals, and coral gardens, it wasn’t only Ekata who wanted to explore further.
Quite a few YA novels recently have included queer women smashing the patriarchy. This is the first one I have read where they smash the autocracy.
Ekata’s journey to find out what kind of ruler she will be is encapsulating and riveting. In a story where the betrayal just keeps coming, Ekata remains loyal to the end – despite the epilogue proving that this is never appreciated. The world of Kylma was immersive and the themes of politics, murder, sexism and violence are swept up by the breezy writing style to create a book that was impossible to put down.
Thank you to Netgalley for giving me the opportunity to read and review this wonderful novel.
Ekata is a middle child within the Avenko royal family: a family who are intent on murdering each other to get to the throne. However, Ekata has no interest in the throne at all: her interests lie in biology rather than brokering treaties and she wants nothing more than to leave Kylma Above and attend university.
However, at the age of thirteen, Ekata wakes to find herself the only member of her family who has not been cursed into a permanent sleep. Suddenly, she is the Grand Duke and is expected to prove herself worthy to rule Kylma Above: conquering the world of politics and magic in order to find a way to wake her family and avoid death herself.
The Winter Duke spans only six days in its storyline. Nonetheless, this does not diminish the journey that Bartlett takes her readers on: there are twists at every turn and almost everyone seems like a villain; neither Ekata nor the reader knows whom they can trust.
Although this is very much Ekata’s story, there are so many characters surrounding her that there is a danger some of these may seem undeveloped. Thankfully, I didn’t feel this way at all. Bartlett brings something different to each character she introduces: from Sigis’ immediate repulsiveness; Eirhan’s deadpan nature and Inkar’s flirty charms. All the characters have their part to play and, although keeping track of all the ministers could be difficult at times, this only added to the overwhelming suffocation that Ekata must be feeling.
Ekata herself is an amazing protagonist: at just thirteen she makes a number of impulsive decisions which end disastrously – so why do we, as a reader, not get frustrated with her? Again, I feel that this is due, in part, to the dizzying number of secondary characters. The reader witnesses the sheer number of commitments that fall onto the shoulders of one who never aspired to this role: we attend unwanted proposals; hear the accusations of murdering her own family; comprehend that she is used as a pawn by her Prime Minister and constantly see Ekata’s authority undermined due to her sex. It is impossible not to empathise with her desperate need to return to her normal life.
Sexism plays a large part in Ekata’s story, with Sigis immediately heralded as the solution to her problems due to his position as a strong man with an army. Inkar is also underestimated due to being female: before she then shatters these perceptions with her axes, her willingness to fight and her protective nature over Ekata.
However, The Winter Duke has to be commended for the gender fluidity within its pages. The brideshow is made of men and women, at least one minister is non-binary and the only romance within this novel is between two queer females. This was such a natural romance as well, slow-burning and cautious due to the politics involved but one that, when the walls of both women came down, could achieve the impossible.
The world building by Claire Eliza Bartlett in this novel is second to none. Kylma Above is impressive with its ice palaces and winter roses invading every corner. However, Kylma Below, the duchy below the ice is magical and sinister in equal measure. With fields of magic, sharks used in tribunals, and coral gardens, it wasn’t only Ekata who wanted to explore further.
Quite a few YA novels recently have included queer women smashing the patriarchy. This is the first one I have read where they smash the autocracy.
Ekata’s journey to find out what kind of ruler she will be is encapsulating and riveting. In a story where the betrayal just keeps coming, Ekata remains loyal to the end – despite the epilogue proving that this is never appreciated. The world of Kylma was immersive and the themes of politics, murder, sexism and violence are swept up by the breezy writing style to create a book that was impossible to put down.
Thank you to Netgalley for giving me the opportunity to read and review this wonderful novel.
Eilidh G Clark (177 KP) rated The Panopticon in Books
May 13, 2017
This is my all time favouurite book.
Jenny Fagan stated in an interview in 2013 that prior to writing the novel The Panopticon (2012) she had one question, ‘is it possible to achieve autonomy?’ Fagan explores this question throughout her novel with the character of Anais Hendrix. I would also suggest that the author is metaphorically exploring whether Scotland can achieve autonomy as an independent nation. Autonomy, in relation to the individual, is self-governance- or being able to decide for oneself
At the beginning of the novel, the fifteen-year old Anais is governed by the state. In contemporary British society, a child under the age of sixteen, regardless of her social situation is, by law, governed by an adult/s. Anais has lived her life in the care system with the exception of a short period in which she lived with an adopted mother. It is for this reason that she is able to see society from outside of the family unit. By creating the motherless child, Fagan presents Anais as the ‘other’ from both a societal perspective- ‘communities dinnae like no-ones,’ and from the viewpoint of the protagonist, ‘What they really want is me dead,’ (TP, p.23). Without a family, and through a lack of legitimate information regarding her birth mother, Anais believes that she was created in a lab:
I’M AN experiment. I always have been, It’s a given, a liberty, a fact. They watch me. Not just in school or social-work reviews, courts or police cells – they watch everywhere. […] They’re there when I stare too long or too clearly, without flinching. […] They watch me, I know it, and I can’t find anywhere any more – where they can’t see, (TP, Prologue).
Note that in the above quotation, the protagonist describes her assumed identity as a ‘liberty’. Liberty, in this case, means freedom from the oppressive nature of the family. Although Anais desires the nurturing aspect of the family, ‘I just want my mum,’ (Tp, p.269), her lack of family exposes her to the nature of contemporary society as a constant monitoring of civilians. In the above quotation, the repetition of ‘they’ suggests that she feels outside of the norm. The most important aspect of the above quote however, is that it is told from the protagonist’s thoughts. While Fagan gives Anais a certain amount of autonomy through both the first-person narrator, and the vernacular, the reliability of the narrator is increased by presenting the characters inner thoughts. While this limited autonomy is important, full autonomy is restricted by age. Bever suggests that ‘the capacity for individuals to become autonomous seems radically dependent on the contingent historical circumstances and societies into which they are born. Anais’ awareness of herself as the ‘other’ allows her an insight into the oppressive role of society, which is normally hindered in childhood due to the role of the family and it’s teaching of norms and values.
The sense of otherness can also be looked at in regard to Scotland and its role within the UK. The UK is a family of four countries under one state. Regardless of Scotland’s devolution, it has still to comply with a large amount of UK policies. Scotland has different values and goals to that of the UK making it ‘other’. With a different cultural identity to its neighbours, many Scottish citizens are seeking independence to protect its dwindling identity, whilst for others, independence is political.
Anais’ awareness of social control causes her a feeling of shrinking. This, according to her social workers is an identity problem:
Fifty odd moves, three different names, born in a nuthouse to a nobody that was never seen again. Identity problem? I dinnae have an identity problem – I dinnae have an identity, (TP, p.99).
Anais’ reaction in the above statement describes her lack of knowledge of her ancestry. I would argue that her identity is forced upon her from the fifty-one times that she has moved home, the care system, the solitary time in which she was adopted, the relationships she has had - both female and male, her friends but more importantly, from the unreliable account of her birth from the monk in the metal institution. The lack of family does not alter the fact that she is alive, and that all the fragments of her past make up an identity. For Anais, ‘Families are overrated […] ‘I umnay fooled. Not by families,’(TP, p.63-64). Like Anais, Scotland’s identity is ambiguous. Independence will allow Scotland political autonomy, however, within a global economy, Scotland still has limited autonomy. As culturally ‘other’ however, Scotland has already achieved autonomy with or without a state through its language, its people and its traditions.
Fagan demonstrates the difficulty of total autonomy though Anais and the birthday game, a game in which she creates her own identity. When she turns sixteen years of age, Anais is free from societal care and flees from her imprisonment, ‘I am Frances Jones from Paris. I am not a face on a missing-person poster, I am not a number or a statistic in a file. I have no-one watching me, […] I−begin today,’ (TP, p.323-324). ‘I’ suggests singularity and is still opposite to ‘them’ or ‘we’. Autonomy is therefore, ambiguous; Anais is still living within the same system under a false identity, she is therefore, segregated from everyone that she knows. Moreover, by changing Anais’ name to a name that ‘means freedom.’ (TP, p.323), Fagan is pointing out the difference between freedom and autonomy. Freedom is an emotive word, and there are two concepts of freedom – freedom from, which in Anais’ situation means freedom from the system of observation. Freedom to, however, is more problematic as Anais can never be free from the neoliberal system of rules and law – as Scotland would see in the case of independence. I would therefore conclude that Anais/Scotland has always has limited autonomy through cultural identity and history. I believe autonomy can only reside within the system through cultural and individual imagination and not out with it.
What does this mean for Scotland? If Scotland is part of the global community, can it become an autonomous nation? Is there a solution or should Anais/Scotland accept that cultural autonomy is imagined or self-contained. Can a collective identity and imagination change the political system? Finally, can culture survive without independence?
Bibliography
Crupp, Tyler, ‘Autonomy and Contemporary Political Theory’, in Encyclopaedia of Political Theory, ed. Mark Bevor (London: Sage Publications, 2010)
Fagan, Jenni, The Panopticon (London: Windmill Books, 2013), p.6.
Windmill Books. (2013). Granta Best Young British Novelist Jenni Fagan, . accessed 22 November 2015. Published on Apr 16, 2013
At the beginning of the novel, the fifteen-year old Anais is governed by the state. In contemporary British society, a child under the age of sixteen, regardless of her social situation is, by law, governed by an adult/s. Anais has lived her life in the care system with the exception of a short period in which she lived with an adopted mother. It is for this reason that she is able to see society from outside of the family unit. By creating the motherless child, Fagan presents Anais as the ‘other’ from both a societal perspective- ‘communities dinnae like no-ones,’ and from the viewpoint of the protagonist, ‘What they really want is me dead,’ (TP, p.23). Without a family, and through a lack of legitimate information regarding her birth mother, Anais believes that she was created in a lab:
I’M AN experiment. I always have been, It’s a given, a liberty, a fact. They watch me. Not just in school or social-work reviews, courts or police cells – they watch everywhere. […] They’re there when I stare too long or too clearly, without flinching. […] They watch me, I know it, and I can’t find anywhere any more – where they can’t see, (TP, Prologue).
Note that in the above quotation, the protagonist describes her assumed identity as a ‘liberty’. Liberty, in this case, means freedom from the oppressive nature of the family. Although Anais desires the nurturing aspect of the family, ‘I just want my mum,’ (Tp, p.269), her lack of family exposes her to the nature of contemporary society as a constant monitoring of civilians. In the above quotation, the repetition of ‘they’ suggests that she feels outside of the norm. The most important aspect of the above quote however, is that it is told from the protagonist’s thoughts. While Fagan gives Anais a certain amount of autonomy through both the first-person narrator, and the vernacular, the reliability of the narrator is increased by presenting the characters inner thoughts. While this limited autonomy is important, full autonomy is restricted by age. Bever suggests that ‘the capacity for individuals to become autonomous seems radically dependent on the contingent historical circumstances and societies into which they are born. Anais’ awareness of herself as the ‘other’ allows her an insight into the oppressive role of society, which is normally hindered in childhood due to the role of the family and it’s teaching of norms and values.
The sense of otherness can also be looked at in regard to Scotland and its role within the UK. The UK is a family of four countries under one state. Regardless of Scotland’s devolution, it has still to comply with a large amount of UK policies. Scotland has different values and goals to that of the UK making it ‘other’. With a different cultural identity to its neighbours, many Scottish citizens are seeking independence to protect its dwindling identity, whilst for others, independence is political.
Anais’ awareness of social control causes her a feeling of shrinking. This, according to her social workers is an identity problem:
Fifty odd moves, three different names, born in a nuthouse to a nobody that was never seen again. Identity problem? I dinnae have an identity problem – I dinnae have an identity, (TP, p.99).
Anais’ reaction in the above statement describes her lack of knowledge of her ancestry. I would argue that her identity is forced upon her from the fifty-one times that she has moved home, the care system, the solitary time in which she was adopted, the relationships she has had - both female and male, her friends but more importantly, from the unreliable account of her birth from the monk in the metal institution. The lack of family does not alter the fact that she is alive, and that all the fragments of her past make up an identity. For Anais, ‘Families are overrated […] ‘I umnay fooled. Not by families,’(TP, p.63-64). Like Anais, Scotland’s identity is ambiguous. Independence will allow Scotland political autonomy, however, within a global economy, Scotland still has limited autonomy. As culturally ‘other’ however, Scotland has already achieved autonomy with or without a state through its language, its people and its traditions.
Fagan demonstrates the difficulty of total autonomy though Anais and the birthday game, a game in which she creates her own identity. When she turns sixteen years of age, Anais is free from societal care and flees from her imprisonment, ‘I am Frances Jones from Paris. I am not a face on a missing-person poster, I am not a number or a statistic in a file. I have no-one watching me, […] I−begin today,’ (TP, p.323-324). ‘I’ suggests singularity and is still opposite to ‘them’ or ‘we’. Autonomy is therefore, ambiguous; Anais is still living within the same system under a false identity, she is therefore, segregated from everyone that she knows. Moreover, by changing Anais’ name to a name that ‘means freedom.’ (TP, p.323), Fagan is pointing out the difference between freedom and autonomy. Freedom is an emotive word, and there are two concepts of freedom – freedom from, which in Anais’ situation means freedom from the system of observation. Freedom to, however, is more problematic as Anais can never be free from the neoliberal system of rules and law – as Scotland would see in the case of independence. I would therefore conclude that Anais/Scotland has always has limited autonomy through cultural identity and history. I believe autonomy can only reside within the system through cultural and individual imagination and not out with it.
What does this mean for Scotland? If Scotland is part of the global community, can it become an autonomous nation? Is there a solution or should Anais/Scotland accept that cultural autonomy is imagined or self-contained. Can a collective identity and imagination change the political system? Finally, can culture survive without independence?
Bibliography
Crupp, Tyler, ‘Autonomy and Contemporary Political Theory’, in Encyclopaedia of Political Theory, ed. Mark Bevor (London: Sage Publications, 2010)
Fagan, Jenni, The Panopticon (London: Windmill Books, 2013), p.6.
Windmill Books. (2013). Granta Best Young British Novelist Jenni Fagan, . accessed 22 November 2015. Published on Apr 16, 2013
Movie Metropolis (309 KP) rated X-Men: Dark Phoenix (2019) in Movies
Jun 10, 2019 (Updated Jun 10, 2019)
Goodbye Normal Jean
It would be easy to write off X-Men: Dark Phoenix as a complete and utter disaster. With the departure of Bryan Singer (again) from the franchise, first-time director Simon Kinberg taking his place and rumours of costly reshoots pushing the budget north of $200million, things weren’t looking good for this adaptation of the popular Marvel comic.
Let’s not forget that the last time Fox tried to adapt this storyline we ended up with 2006’s The Last Stand, and the less said about that the better. Looking back over the last 20 years, the X-Men’s film franchise history has been chequered to say the least.
Nevertheless, this particular timeline that started with Matthew Vaughn’s adequate First Class, followed up by the excellent Days of Future Past and the flabby Apocalypse ends with Dark Phoenix. But is it worthy of your consideration?
This is the story of one of the X-Men’s most beloved characters, Jean Grey (Sophie Turner), as she evolves into the iconic Phoenix. During a rescue mission in space, Jean is hit by a cosmic force that transforms her into one of the most powerful mutants of all. Wrestling with this increasingly unstable power as well as her own personal demons, Jean spirals out of control, tearing the X-Men family apart and threatening to destroy the very fabric of our planet.
First things first – this is not a bad film. Yes, you heard me right. Leagues above Apocalypse and much better than The Last Stand, Dark Phoenix is a film that has been let down by catastrophically poor marketing. It’s not perfect, as we’ll discover in this review, but it tries a different approach, and for that it should be applauded.
For this reviewer, the modern day cast of characters has always been a weak spot for the series and that doesn’t really change in Dark Phoenix. James McAvoy remains miscast as Charles Xavier, especially since packing on the muscle for this Glass, but he performs much better here than he did in its predecessor. His transition into egotistical maniac, obsessed by the celebrity status the X-Men have acquired at the outset of the film is an intriguing diversion from where he was at the end of Apocalypse.
The younger cast are more likeable. Kodi Smitt-McPhee’s portrayal of Nightcrawler is fabulous and he gets more to do this time around. Tye Sheridan is great as young Cyclops and Evan Peters’ Quicksilver remains a highlight, though it’s unfortunate he’s cast aside relatively quickly – for fans of his set pieces from the previous two films, you’ll be disappointed here. Michael Fassbender and Nicholas Hoult bring their a-games, but they even seem a little bored by what’s going on. “You’re always sorry, Charles. And there’s always a speech. But nobody cares anymore!” bites Michael Fassbender at one point in the film – perhaps he’s onto something?
The first hour is perhaps the best the series has been since Days of Future Past
Of the female cast, Sophie Turner does her best with the material she’s given, and her Jean Grey is full of anger, angst and melancholy. The script struggles to provide her with any other emotion, but she’s a pleasing protagonist for the most part. Unfortunately, Jennifer Lawrence completely phones in her performance as Mystique and Jessica Chastain’s horrifically underwritten villain wastes a fabulous actor in a thankless role – much like Oscar Issac in Apocalypse.
With reports of heavy reshoots, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the film would end up a royal mess. Thankfully, the first hour is perhaps the best the series has been since Days of Future Past. Focusing on character development rather than all-out action, it’s a pleasing change and one which is more than welcome. Unfortunately, as time ticks away, the film loses all semblance of sanity and becomes muddled as it steamrolls towards an underwhelming climax.
And despite the reported budget of $200million, some of the shot choices and outfits feel cheap. It’s clear director Simon Kinberg is a fan of the series, but the X-Men costumes are bland, ill-fitting and a world away from what we’ve seen before. Closer to the comics they may be, but that’s not always a good thing. Elsewhere, the film feels cut-rate, almost TV-movie like and that’s a real shame because the special effects are top-notch. Mercifully, Hans Zimmer’s score is wonderful. The soaring orchestral soundtrack works brilliantly with the film – it’s probably the best music in the series to date.
Overall, X-Men: Dark Phoenix has been a victim of poor marketing with trailers that spoilt perhaps the most pivotal moment of the film (which we won’t spoil here). Nevertheless, the first hour is great and the special effects provide the film with some thrilling set pieces. It’s a shame then that the film offers up nothing new to the table despite some committed performances – this Phoenix just doesn’t quite rise to the occasion.
https://moviemetropolis.net/2019/06/07/x-men-dark-phoenix-review-goodbye-normal-jean/
Let’s not forget that the last time Fox tried to adapt this storyline we ended up with 2006’s The Last Stand, and the less said about that the better. Looking back over the last 20 years, the X-Men’s film franchise history has been chequered to say the least.
Nevertheless, this particular timeline that started with Matthew Vaughn’s adequate First Class, followed up by the excellent Days of Future Past and the flabby Apocalypse ends with Dark Phoenix. But is it worthy of your consideration?
This is the story of one of the X-Men’s most beloved characters, Jean Grey (Sophie Turner), as she evolves into the iconic Phoenix. During a rescue mission in space, Jean is hit by a cosmic force that transforms her into one of the most powerful mutants of all. Wrestling with this increasingly unstable power as well as her own personal demons, Jean spirals out of control, tearing the X-Men family apart and threatening to destroy the very fabric of our planet.
First things first – this is not a bad film. Yes, you heard me right. Leagues above Apocalypse and much better than The Last Stand, Dark Phoenix is a film that has been let down by catastrophically poor marketing. It’s not perfect, as we’ll discover in this review, but it tries a different approach, and for that it should be applauded.
For this reviewer, the modern day cast of characters has always been a weak spot for the series and that doesn’t really change in Dark Phoenix. James McAvoy remains miscast as Charles Xavier, especially since packing on the muscle for this Glass, but he performs much better here than he did in its predecessor. His transition into egotistical maniac, obsessed by the celebrity status the X-Men have acquired at the outset of the film is an intriguing diversion from where he was at the end of Apocalypse.
The younger cast are more likeable. Kodi Smitt-McPhee’s portrayal of Nightcrawler is fabulous and he gets more to do this time around. Tye Sheridan is great as young Cyclops and Evan Peters’ Quicksilver remains a highlight, though it’s unfortunate he’s cast aside relatively quickly – for fans of his set pieces from the previous two films, you’ll be disappointed here. Michael Fassbender and Nicholas Hoult bring their a-games, but they even seem a little bored by what’s going on. “You’re always sorry, Charles. And there’s always a speech. But nobody cares anymore!” bites Michael Fassbender at one point in the film – perhaps he’s onto something?
The first hour is perhaps the best the series has been since Days of Future Past
Of the female cast, Sophie Turner does her best with the material she’s given, and her Jean Grey is full of anger, angst and melancholy. The script struggles to provide her with any other emotion, but she’s a pleasing protagonist for the most part. Unfortunately, Jennifer Lawrence completely phones in her performance as Mystique and Jessica Chastain’s horrifically underwritten villain wastes a fabulous actor in a thankless role – much like Oscar Issac in Apocalypse.
With reports of heavy reshoots, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the film would end up a royal mess. Thankfully, the first hour is perhaps the best the series has been since Days of Future Past. Focusing on character development rather than all-out action, it’s a pleasing change and one which is more than welcome. Unfortunately, as time ticks away, the film loses all semblance of sanity and becomes muddled as it steamrolls towards an underwhelming climax.
And despite the reported budget of $200million, some of the shot choices and outfits feel cheap. It’s clear director Simon Kinberg is a fan of the series, but the X-Men costumes are bland, ill-fitting and a world away from what we’ve seen before. Closer to the comics they may be, but that’s not always a good thing. Elsewhere, the film feels cut-rate, almost TV-movie like and that’s a real shame because the special effects are top-notch. Mercifully, Hans Zimmer’s score is wonderful. The soaring orchestral soundtrack works brilliantly with the film – it’s probably the best music in the series to date.
Overall, X-Men: Dark Phoenix has been a victim of poor marketing with trailers that spoilt perhaps the most pivotal moment of the film (which we won’t spoil here). Nevertheless, the first hour is great and the special effects provide the film with some thrilling set pieces. It’s a shame then that the film offers up nothing new to the table despite some committed performances – this Phoenix just doesn’t quite rise to the occasion.
https://moviemetropolis.net/2019/06/07/x-men-dark-phoenix-review-goodbye-normal-jean/
Connor Sheffield (293 KP) rated Vikings in TV
Feb 4, 2018
Somewhat historically accurate (2 more)
Visually Compelling
Gripping drama that keeps you wanting more
One of my favourite shows of all time
Vikings, for the first 3 seasons, tells the story of the rise to power of the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok, though the character himself in reality, despite being written about in sagas and poems from that era, remains a mystery to historians to this day.
In the show, Ragnar Lothbrok is portrayed by Travis Fimmel, who is fantastic in any role he has taken from what I have seen of his work. As Ragnar he excels at portraying many aspects of the character, from a loving father, to a fierce warrior. Though you still believe that he has nothing but the best intentions for his people, as well as himself. He is a somewhat difficult man to read as he may seem selfish at time, and yet his actions help the people around him, whilst other times, his actions may appear to be for the benefit of others, when really it is an act of selfishness. No matter what he does though, he does it well.
However, there is more to this show that just Ragnar Lothbrok. There is his wife, Lagertha, a famous shield maiden portrayed by Katheryn Winnick, who is able to achieve the same talent as Fimmel, by portraying the many sides to the character she plays. She is a loving mother, wife, though sometimes troubled, but at the end of the day, she is a badass. A strong female protagonist with a lot to gain and a lot to lose. Her story unfolds more from season 2 onwards and it is one that keeps you on edge, wanting to know what the future holds for Lagertha. Sadly, we have no seers to tell us what the gods have in store for her, we can only watch in suspense as the events unfold.
Then there are the Sons of Ragnar, who in later seasons, become the pinnacle of the show. The main focus, that will shape the future of what the show will become. All of them are incredible actors who portray their characters to the best they can be. My two favourites, are Bjorn Ironside, portrayed by Alender Ludwig, and Ivar The Boneless, portrayed by Alex Høgh Andersen. Both of these young actors excel in creating the best of their characters. Bjorn being the eldest of Ragnars sons, is the one you may become attached to most as he is there from the very beginning, portrayed at first by the young, Nathan O'Toole. In season 2 however, Bjorn is growing into a tall and strong young man, and this is where Ludwig excels. You believe that he is still young and blind from the world as it truly is, but enough so that you can believe that he is willing to learn more and like his father, wishes to know as much as he can about the world.
Ivar on the other hand, is brilliant for his own reason. Andersen's portrayal is fierce, creepy and brutal. He portrays a young man who is willing to overcome any obstacle including his own disability, to prove himself as a great warrior, and a force to be reckoned with. His constant anger is always on display as well, even when he is happy. You can see just from the expressions on his face, that he has so much going through his mind. So much cunning and so much emotion that he does not show. He is phenomanal in his role.
Though there are many other characters and actors to talk about such as Gustaf Skarsgard, who's brother, Bill, recently became notorious for his role as the new updated remake of Pennywise the Clown in IT (2017), as well as Clive Standen as Rollo, Ragnar's brother who is always dancing between loyalty and betrayal. Every cast member in this show is brilliant in what they have achieved with their characters and you will come to enjoy all of them.
The visuals of the show are stunning, with lots of blood and gore, comes a historically accurate representation of the lives and locations of the Vikings of that era. From visions, to battles, to drama. The visual effects keep you entranced and bring the story to life, which makes this show so incredible in my opinion. The best part, is that with each season and each episode, the story and visuals get better and better and leave you wanting more.
The show overall, is brilliant, and I have watched it many times over from the beginning, and it never gets boring. I love the historical accuracy mixed with fantasy elements and drama, which keep it interesting, but more importantly I how the show makes the audience feel. I have felt saddened, shocked and joyful throughout this show as it brilliantly allows each character to grow and flourish into the best they can be. It leaves you in suspense of what it is to come and when the show ends, I shall be very sad, but I have high hopes that they end the show with as much power as they put in each episode from the very beginning. I will continue to watch this show multiple times with each season as I wait for the next to be released. I am on my third run through of the show whilst waiting for part 2 of season 5. As I said before, it just keeps getting better.
In the show, Ragnar Lothbrok is portrayed by Travis Fimmel, who is fantastic in any role he has taken from what I have seen of his work. As Ragnar he excels at portraying many aspects of the character, from a loving father, to a fierce warrior. Though you still believe that he has nothing but the best intentions for his people, as well as himself. He is a somewhat difficult man to read as he may seem selfish at time, and yet his actions help the people around him, whilst other times, his actions may appear to be for the benefit of others, when really it is an act of selfishness. No matter what he does though, he does it well.
However, there is more to this show that just Ragnar Lothbrok. There is his wife, Lagertha, a famous shield maiden portrayed by Katheryn Winnick, who is able to achieve the same talent as Fimmel, by portraying the many sides to the character she plays. She is a loving mother, wife, though sometimes troubled, but at the end of the day, she is a badass. A strong female protagonist with a lot to gain and a lot to lose. Her story unfolds more from season 2 onwards and it is one that keeps you on edge, wanting to know what the future holds for Lagertha. Sadly, we have no seers to tell us what the gods have in store for her, we can only watch in suspense as the events unfold.
Then there are the Sons of Ragnar, who in later seasons, become the pinnacle of the show. The main focus, that will shape the future of what the show will become. All of them are incredible actors who portray their characters to the best they can be. My two favourites, are Bjorn Ironside, portrayed by Alender Ludwig, and Ivar The Boneless, portrayed by Alex Høgh Andersen. Both of these young actors excel in creating the best of their characters. Bjorn being the eldest of Ragnars sons, is the one you may become attached to most as he is there from the very beginning, portrayed at first by the young, Nathan O'Toole. In season 2 however, Bjorn is growing into a tall and strong young man, and this is where Ludwig excels. You believe that he is still young and blind from the world as it truly is, but enough so that you can believe that he is willing to learn more and like his father, wishes to know as much as he can about the world.
Ivar on the other hand, is brilliant for his own reason. Andersen's portrayal is fierce, creepy and brutal. He portrays a young man who is willing to overcome any obstacle including his own disability, to prove himself as a great warrior, and a force to be reckoned with. His constant anger is always on display as well, even when he is happy. You can see just from the expressions on his face, that he has so much going through his mind. So much cunning and so much emotion that he does not show. He is phenomanal in his role.
Though there are many other characters and actors to talk about such as Gustaf Skarsgard, who's brother, Bill, recently became notorious for his role as the new updated remake of Pennywise the Clown in IT (2017), as well as Clive Standen as Rollo, Ragnar's brother who is always dancing between loyalty and betrayal. Every cast member in this show is brilliant in what they have achieved with their characters and you will come to enjoy all of them.
The visuals of the show are stunning, with lots of blood and gore, comes a historically accurate representation of the lives and locations of the Vikings of that era. From visions, to battles, to drama. The visual effects keep you entranced and bring the story to life, which makes this show so incredible in my opinion. The best part, is that with each season and each episode, the story and visuals get better and better and leave you wanting more.
The show overall, is brilliant, and I have watched it many times over from the beginning, and it never gets boring. I love the historical accuracy mixed with fantasy elements and drama, which keep it interesting, but more importantly I how the show makes the audience feel. I have felt saddened, shocked and joyful throughout this show as it brilliantly allows each character to grow and flourish into the best they can be. It leaves you in suspense of what it is to come and when the show ends, I shall be very sad, but I have high hopes that they end the show with as much power as they put in each episode from the very beginning. I will continue to watch this show multiple times with each season as I wait for the next to be released. I am on my third run through of the show whilst waiting for part 2 of season 5. As I said before, it just keeps getting better.
Mandy and G.D. Burkhead (26 KP) rated The Grey Bastards in Books
May 20, 2018
Shelf Life – The Grey Bastards Exemplifies Grimdark Fantasy at Its Damn Finest
Contains spoilers, click to show
The Grey Bastards is a fun, foul-mouthed read. If you’re turned off by bad language, steamy sex, or a good plot with plenty of action and twists, then this book isn’t for you. The Grey Bastards falls into the fantasy sub-genre known as grimdark. Where high fantasy has your Tolkien beautiful and noble elves, dwarves, humans, and wizards with epic battles between good and evil, grimdark takes all of that and covers it in shit, pus, and blood. Notice how in high fantasy nobody ever takes a piss or fucks? In grimdark, everyone does.
But don’t be fooled into thinking this book will be any less intelligent, epic, or heartfelt for it. The Grey Bastards is all of that and more. The novel follows Jackal, a half-breed orc living in the Lot Lands, the barren desert wasteland of Hispartha. He is a Grey Bastard, one of many half-orc hoofs, each protecting its own small town in the Lots. Members of a hoof are elite warriors that ride out on their Barbarians—giant warthogs—and slaughter invading bands of orcs.
Hispartha is a vibrant world, with a mix of fantastical species (orcs, half-orcs, elves, humans, halflings, and centaurs) with unique cultures and religions. Hispartha itself takes influences from Reconquista Spain, which is especially noticeable in the nomenclature, geography, and architecture.
The primarily atheistic half-orcs recently won their freedom from slavery at the hands of humans. Humans treat the half-orcs like second-class citizens, but tolerate them because of their strength, using them as a shield from the orcs. The elves are beautiful, reclusive, and probably the most cliché; there is one important elf character, but for the most part, we don’t get a good look into their culture in the first book. The centaurs worship Romanesque deities and go on crazed, Bacchanalian killing sprees during the blood moon.
Besides the half-orcs, the halflings are perhaps the most interesting. I still have a hard time visualizing them, trying to figure out if they are thin, pixie-like creatures or more stocky like dwarves. Their small stature and black skin makes me think of pygmies. They worship a god they expect will reincarnate someday, (view spoiler)
One thing that has always annoyed me about fantasy is that many authors feel that the characters of their world, being pre-industrial and thus “medieval,” must all be white, straight, Christian (or proto-Christian), cisgender males. If a woman appears at all is to act as the damsel, prize, or, if she’s lucky, a mystical enchantress to guide the heroes or provide a maguffin. It has come to the point in which this has become a tired and accepted baseline for fantasy. I don’t necessarily think that these fantasy authors are intentionally trying to be uninclusive, so much as they just seem to forget that other groups of people can exist in fantasy thanks to its fathers, Tolkien and Lewis.
But enough with my rant, the purpose of which is to highlight why I am often drawn to grimdark fantasy: at the very least I know that women, people of color, lgbt people, and other religions will be present, even if they are often victimized. This is because grimdark fantasy honestly depicts the horrors of rape, war, murder, slavery, and racism (or rather, speciesism in most cases) and has heroes and villains that are morally grey.
However, many authors describe these atrocities and then leave it at that, assuming that simply depicting them is enough to make a book mature and meaningful. They often fail to make any sort of statement on evil, and thus can seem to be, at best, blindly accepting it and, at worst, glorifying it (this often happens in the cases of magnificent bastard characters, who are absolute monsters but are so charming you almost respect or like them).
Jonathan French, however, does not fall short of the mark as many authors do, and for two main reasons: humor and humanity.
Let’s start with the humor. This book is hilarious. I mean in the I literally laughed out loud while reading it way. Sure, the jokes are often crass, but I have a dirty mind, so inappropriate humor is my favorite kind. The dialogue is especially top-notch, and the interactions between Jackal and his friends Fetching and Oats feel genuine, full of in-jokes, insults, and sexually-charged humor, all of which are exactly how I interact with my own close friends. And every major character in this book is so damn witty that I’m honestly jealous of them. If I could be quick enough to make even one of their zingers at the right time in a conversation, I would feel proud of myself for the rest of the day.
Humor is necessary to prevent any grimdark fantasy from becoming too over-the-top or depressing. And honestly, humor is needed most when the world is a dark and frightening place. But too much humor could accidentally downplay the point of grimdark: the brutally honest depiction of the atrocities that people are capable of.
And this is where it is important to have an element of humanity. By this I mean that the “good guys” must make some action or statement on those atrocities. Too often I read or watch hardened badass characters with no emotion who can watch a person get tortured and killed without flinching (maybe even do it themselves) and who never stop to question the nature of their society (even as part of their character growth), and I have difficulty finding them at all relatable or even the least bit interesting.
Now, often for this type of character, he or she is dead inside as a coping mechanism and part of their character arc is learning to allow themselves to feel their repressed emotions: heartbreak, anger, fear, etc. This can be done very well (see The Hunger Games for a great example—dystopian scifi and grimdark fantasy have very similar undertones). But most times it just ends up falling flat.
But Jackal already starts out with more personality than most grimdark protagonists. He is a humorous and light-hearted person. Sure, he lives in a desert wasteland, his race is entirely created by rape, he’s treated as a second-class citizen, and his life and the lives of those around him are in constant danger of rape and/or murder by invading orcs or blood-crazed centaurs. But despite all of that, he still has a sense of humor, people he loves, a community, ambitions, moral code, and all of the other things that these protagonists are often lacking.
Don’t get me wrong, he can be an asshole, and he’s often acts rashly before he thinks. But the scene that really stuck with me the most was [when Jackal and the wizard Crafty come across an unconscious elf sex-slave. I was expecting him to say something along the lines of “There’s nothing we can do for her, we have to save ourselves” or “This isn’t any of our business” or “It would be best to just put her out of her mercy.” These are the typical lines that a grimdark protagonist might utter while their companion—accused of being a bleeding heart—frees the slave. But this was not the case. Jackal and Crafty both immediately set out to free the girl and steal her away from her owner, despite the danger to themselves. And when he comes across an entire castle-full of these women, Jackal again sets about freeing them without a moment’s hesitation. (hide spoiler)]
And it’s no surprise that Jackal has a serious problem with rape. As I’ve mentioned before, half-orcs are entirely the product of roving bands of orcs raping human, elven, or even half-orc women. [When Jackal learns that Starling, the elf slave he rescued, is pregnant with a half-orc baby, he is not only furious with the orcs that gang-raped her, but also disturbed by the fact that elven society shuns any of their women who have been raped, and that these victims often end up taking their own lives rather than give birth to an impure half-elf. (hide spoiler)]
Furthermore, Jackal, unlike many people in Hispartha, does not buy into misogyny or sexism. His best friend Fetching is the first female half-orc to have joined a group of riders. Not only does Jackal respect Fetching, he understands the emotional turmoil that she is dealing with being the first female rider and how she overcompensates as a result to earn the respect of the other men.
While there is quite a bit of speciesism (pretty much none of the species get along with one another), the inhabitants of Hispartha come in every skin color and nobody gives a damn. Furthermore, sexuality is primarily treated as each person’s individual preference and nobody else’s business. While characters may make jokes about acting “backy” (gay), these are made in good humor between friends, and nobody gets particularly offended by them. Fetching is herself openly bisexual (though she seems to suppress her heterosexual desires more than her homosexual ones out of that same need to be “one of the boys”), and Oats and Jackal are one of my favorite bromantic pairings.
Grimdark fantasy can often be depressing to read. But Jonathan French does an excellent job of infusing hope into his narrative. The story actually has a happier ending than I was expecting. [I was especially pleased when Jackal chooses Fetching to be the new leader of the hoof (she is voted in unanimously by the other riders). I find it incredibly annoying in books and movies when revolutionaries/usurpers decide to appoint themselves leaders, as the former does not qualify you for the latter. Part of Jackal’s arc is realizing that he is not meant to lead the hoof like he’d once desired. (hide spoiler)]
For the sequel, The True Bastards, I’m hoping to see [if a cure can be found for the thrice-blood child now infected with plague, how Fetching is doing leading the hoof, and what the mysterious Starling is up to (I don’t buy for a second that she’s killed herself). And of course, I fully expect that Jackal is going to have to fulfill his empty promise to the halfling’s resurrected god, Belico.
But don’t be fooled into thinking this book will be any less intelligent, epic, or heartfelt for it. The Grey Bastards is all of that and more. The novel follows Jackal, a half-breed orc living in the Lot Lands, the barren desert wasteland of Hispartha. He is a Grey Bastard, one of many half-orc hoofs, each protecting its own small town in the Lots. Members of a hoof are elite warriors that ride out on their Barbarians—giant warthogs—and slaughter invading bands of orcs.
Hispartha is a vibrant world, with a mix of fantastical species (orcs, half-orcs, elves, humans, halflings, and centaurs) with unique cultures and religions. Hispartha itself takes influences from Reconquista Spain, which is especially noticeable in the nomenclature, geography, and architecture.
The primarily atheistic half-orcs recently won their freedom from slavery at the hands of humans. Humans treat the half-orcs like second-class citizens, but tolerate them because of their strength, using them as a shield from the orcs. The elves are beautiful, reclusive, and probably the most cliché; there is one important elf character, but for the most part, we don’t get a good look into their culture in the first book. The centaurs worship Romanesque deities and go on crazed, Bacchanalian killing sprees during the blood moon.
Besides the half-orcs, the halflings are perhaps the most interesting. I still have a hard time visualizing them, trying to figure out if they are thin, pixie-like creatures or more stocky like dwarves. Their small stature and black skin makes me think of pygmies. They worship a god they expect will reincarnate someday, (view spoiler)
One thing that has always annoyed me about fantasy is that many authors feel that the characters of their world, being pre-industrial and thus “medieval,” must all be white, straight, Christian (or proto-Christian), cisgender males. If a woman appears at all is to act as the damsel, prize, or, if she’s lucky, a mystical enchantress to guide the heroes or provide a maguffin. It has come to the point in which this has become a tired and accepted baseline for fantasy. I don’t necessarily think that these fantasy authors are intentionally trying to be uninclusive, so much as they just seem to forget that other groups of people can exist in fantasy thanks to its fathers, Tolkien and Lewis.
But enough with my rant, the purpose of which is to highlight why I am often drawn to grimdark fantasy: at the very least I know that women, people of color, lgbt people, and other religions will be present, even if they are often victimized. This is because grimdark fantasy honestly depicts the horrors of rape, war, murder, slavery, and racism (or rather, speciesism in most cases) and has heroes and villains that are morally grey.
However, many authors describe these atrocities and then leave it at that, assuming that simply depicting them is enough to make a book mature and meaningful. They often fail to make any sort of statement on evil, and thus can seem to be, at best, blindly accepting it and, at worst, glorifying it (this often happens in the cases of magnificent bastard characters, who are absolute monsters but are so charming you almost respect or like them).
Jonathan French, however, does not fall short of the mark as many authors do, and for two main reasons: humor and humanity.
Let’s start with the humor. This book is hilarious. I mean in the I literally laughed out loud while reading it way. Sure, the jokes are often crass, but I have a dirty mind, so inappropriate humor is my favorite kind. The dialogue is especially top-notch, and the interactions between Jackal and his friends Fetching and Oats feel genuine, full of in-jokes, insults, and sexually-charged humor, all of which are exactly how I interact with my own close friends. And every major character in this book is so damn witty that I’m honestly jealous of them. If I could be quick enough to make even one of their zingers at the right time in a conversation, I would feel proud of myself for the rest of the day.
Humor is necessary to prevent any grimdark fantasy from becoming too over-the-top or depressing. And honestly, humor is needed most when the world is a dark and frightening place. But too much humor could accidentally downplay the point of grimdark: the brutally honest depiction of the atrocities that people are capable of.
And this is where it is important to have an element of humanity. By this I mean that the “good guys” must make some action or statement on those atrocities. Too often I read or watch hardened badass characters with no emotion who can watch a person get tortured and killed without flinching (maybe even do it themselves) and who never stop to question the nature of their society (even as part of their character growth), and I have difficulty finding them at all relatable or even the least bit interesting.
Now, often for this type of character, he or she is dead inside as a coping mechanism and part of their character arc is learning to allow themselves to feel their repressed emotions: heartbreak, anger, fear, etc. This can be done very well (see The Hunger Games for a great example—dystopian scifi and grimdark fantasy have very similar undertones). But most times it just ends up falling flat.
But Jackal already starts out with more personality than most grimdark protagonists. He is a humorous and light-hearted person. Sure, he lives in a desert wasteland, his race is entirely created by rape, he’s treated as a second-class citizen, and his life and the lives of those around him are in constant danger of rape and/or murder by invading orcs or blood-crazed centaurs. But despite all of that, he still has a sense of humor, people he loves, a community, ambitions, moral code, and all of the other things that these protagonists are often lacking.
Don’t get me wrong, he can be an asshole, and he’s often acts rashly before he thinks. But the scene that really stuck with me the most was [when Jackal and the wizard Crafty come across an unconscious elf sex-slave. I was expecting him to say something along the lines of “There’s nothing we can do for her, we have to save ourselves” or “This isn’t any of our business” or “It would be best to just put her out of her mercy.” These are the typical lines that a grimdark protagonist might utter while their companion—accused of being a bleeding heart—frees the slave. But this was not the case. Jackal and Crafty both immediately set out to free the girl and steal her away from her owner, despite the danger to themselves. And when he comes across an entire castle-full of these women, Jackal again sets about freeing them without a moment’s hesitation. (hide spoiler)]
And it’s no surprise that Jackal has a serious problem with rape. As I’ve mentioned before, half-orcs are entirely the product of roving bands of orcs raping human, elven, or even half-orc women. [When Jackal learns that Starling, the elf slave he rescued, is pregnant with a half-orc baby, he is not only furious with the orcs that gang-raped her, but also disturbed by the fact that elven society shuns any of their women who have been raped, and that these victims often end up taking their own lives rather than give birth to an impure half-elf. (hide spoiler)]
Furthermore, Jackal, unlike many people in Hispartha, does not buy into misogyny or sexism. His best friend Fetching is the first female half-orc to have joined a group of riders. Not only does Jackal respect Fetching, he understands the emotional turmoil that she is dealing with being the first female rider and how she overcompensates as a result to earn the respect of the other men.
While there is quite a bit of speciesism (pretty much none of the species get along with one another), the inhabitants of Hispartha come in every skin color and nobody gives a damn. Furthermore, sexuality is primarily treated as each person’s individual preference and nobody else’s business. While characters may make jokes about acting “backy” (gay), these are made in good humor between friends, and nobody gets particularly offended by them. Fetching is herself openly bisexual (though she seems to suppress her heterosexual desires more than her homosexual ones out of that same need to be “one of the boys”), and Oats and Jackal are one of my favorite bromantic pairings.
Grimdark fantasy can often be depressing to read. But Jonathan French does an excellent job of infusing hope into his narrative. The story actually has a happier ending than I was expecting. [I was especially pleased when Jackal chooses Fetching to be the new leader of the hoof (she is voted in unanimously by the other riders). I find it incredibly annoying in books and movies when revolutionaries/usurpers decide to appoint themselves leaders, as the former does not qualify you for the latter. Part of Jackal’s arc is realizing that he is not meant to lead the hoof like he’d once desired. (hide spoiler)]
For the sequel, The True Bastards, I’m hoping to see [if a cure can be found for the thrice-blood child now infected with plague, how Fetching is doing leading the hoof, and what the mysterious Starling is up to (I don’t buy for a second that she’s killed herself). And of course, I fully expect that Jackal is going to have to fulfill his empty promise to the halfling’s resurrected god, Belico.