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Naomi Forrest (42 KP) rated The Toy Makers in Books
Jan 2, 2019
The first thing on the very first page that I loved was the narrator setting the scene and talking directly to you:
‘See the woman with the cage of pipe-cleaner birds, the vagrant soldier marvelling at the stuffed dogs lounging in their baskets? Keep a careful eye on them; you will see them again’.
I knew just from this descriptive ‘setting the scene’ chapter this book was going to be amazing, there was so much magic encapsulated in those first five pages. Papa Jack’s Emporium is the most wonderful shop you could imagine, a labyrinth of joy, surprises around every aisle and so much more. If you have ever seen the toy shop on Home Alone 2 that looked so amazing as a child, it has nothing on this! I was pretty sure for at least half of the book that Papa Jack was indeed Father Christmas.
After the initial chapter, the reader is introduced to Cathy, a fifteen year old who, shamefully (the year is 1906), is unmarried and pregnant. Plans are made for her to go to a special home where she will give birth and her child will be adopted. However, Cathy spots an advert looking for staff for the Emporium and runs away and so, the magic begins! The reader is catapulted into the world of the emporium and soon meets Papa Jack’s sons, Emil and Kaspar, who assist their father in the running of the store and the making of the toys, which are so much more than toys as we know them. People flock from far and wide to the emporium for it’s sublime creations and the memories and pleasures that they evoke.
The first half of the novel was like a fairytale, building beautifully to a gorgeous climax, full of wonder, friendship and subtle romance (perfectly done, so as not to detract from more pressing themes). In my head, toy soldiers and paper trees were everywhere and the wendy house is the stuff that dreams are made of. I loved observing (as I stood in the corner of the emporium, I’m sure, so convincing is Dinsdale) the relationships the built between Cathy and Emil and Cathy and Kaspar, though at times I felt sorry for Emil, never quite catching up to Kaspar as he wishes. If only the story had ended at page 187. And yet, that would not have been satisfying, not enough, so really, I’m glad it didn’t.
The second part of the novel, that is where Dinsdale really takes us on a journey. A couple of darker themes are touched upon in part one, where we learn of Jekab’s history (Papa Jack) but it ramps up in the second part, which ties in with World War I and beyond. You would think going from such wonderment and happiness to a bleak world of misery and reality would make you want to stop reading but I could not put this book down. I read 3/4 of it in one go! It is in the second part that Dinsdale brings in themes of shell shock, betrayal, sibling jealousy, bitterness and true, deep, familial love. Without spoilers, some characters truly lose everything and I cried during and after the book as it moved me so greatly (I mean, I am a crier anyway but not usually with books!). The entire novel is shaped around the ‘war’ between the brothers with some shocking twists along the way. Though part two draws in more realities, more brutalities and some heartbreaking moments, magic still punctuates and carries the reader through to the end. The ending is bitter sweet and my emotions were cloudy here, anger, joy, sadness and warmth all merging into a big teary mess.
I won’t say too much about specifics because some kinds of magic need to be discovered for yourself. The most beautiful sentiment in this novel though is that toys can’t save a life but they can save a soul, because toys transport many of us back to times of happiness, of wonder and of innocence, when things were simpler and problems remedied more easily. Times change but the joy of toys doesn’t. I can recall going through toy exhibits at both the castle museum in York and a toy museum in Edinburgh and it was so thrilling not only to see toys from my childhood but toys from before. Toys have the power to make magic we never knew existed, even if it is only in our head. The Toy Makers has yielded many comparisons with Erin Morgensten’s The Night Circus but for me, this novel surpassed anything I have read before in a similar vein. I have truly been blown away into a world that I honestly believe I will carry with me forever more. If, like me, you are a Harry Potter fan, you will know what I mean when I say that this book matches up to that first trip to Diagon Alley, to Hogwarts and to Honeydukes or that journey up Enid Blyton’s faraway tree as a child but it is even more exciting as an adult. It isn’t only the description that is first rate though; Dinsdale’s narrative style and use of language pulls you in and flows so smoothly, you are carried away from the first page whether you are prepared for it or not. Some reviews have said it is too fantastical but I cannot rate this book highly enough. It isn’t always easy reading – prepare to have your heart broken in several places- but go in looking for magic. You won’t be disappointed!
‘See the woman with the cage of pipe-cleaner birds, the vagrant soldier marvelling at the stuffed dogs lounging in their baskets? Keep a careful eye on them; you will see them again’.
I knew just from this descriptive ‘setting the scene’ chapter this book was going to be amazing, there was so much magic encapsulated in those first five pages. Papa Jack’s Emporium is the most wonderful shop you could imagine, a labyrinth of joy, surprises around every aisle and so much more. If you have ever seen the toy shop on Home Alone 2 that looked so amazing as a child, it has nothing on this! I was pretty sure for at least half of the book that Papa Jack was indeed Father Christmas.
After the initial chapter, the reader is introduced to Cathy, a fifteen year old who, shamefully (the year is 1906), is unmarried and pregnant. Plans are made for her to go to a special home where she will give birth and her child will be adopted. However, Cathy spots an advert looking for staff for the Emporium and runs away and so, the magic begins! The reader is catapulted into the world of the emporium and soon meets Papa Jack’s sons, Emil and Kaspar, who assist their father in the running of the store and the making of the toys, which are so much more than toys as we know them. People flock from far and wide to the emporium for it’s sublime creations and the memories and pleasures that they evoke.
The first half of the novel was like a fairytale, building beautifully to a gorgeous climax, full of wonder, friendship and subtle romance (perfectly done, so as not to detract from more pressing themes). In my head, toy soldiers and paper trees were everywhere and the wendy house is the stuff that dreams are made of. I loved observing (as I stood in the corner of the emporium, I’m sure, so convincing is Dinsdale) the relationships the built between Cathy and Emil and Cathy and Kaspar, though at times I felt sorry for Emil, never quite catching up to Kaspar as he wishes. If only the story had ended at page 187. And yet, that would not have been satisfying, not enough, so really, I’m glad it didn’t.
The second part of the novel, that is where Dinsdale really takes us on a journey. A couple of darker themes are touched upon in part one, where we learn of Jekab’s history (Papa Jack) but it ramps up in the second part, which ties in with World War I and beyond. You would think going from such wonderment and happiness to a bleak world of misery and reality would make you want to stop reading but I could not put this book down. I read 3/4 of it in one go! It is in the second part that Dinsdale brings in themes of shell shock, betrayal, sibling jealousy, bitterness and true, deep, familial love. Without spoilers, some characters truly lose everything and I cried during and after the book as it moved me so greatly (I mean, I am a crier anyway but not usually with books!). The entire novel is shaped around the ‘war’ between the brothers with some shocking twists along the way. Though part two draws in more realities, more brutalities and some heartbreaking moments, magic still punctuates and carries the reader through to the end. The ending is bitter sweet and my emotions were cloudy here, anger, joy, sadness and warmth all merging into a big teary mess.
I won’t say too much about specifics because some kinds of magic need to be discovered for yourself. The most beautiful sentiment in this novel though is that toys can’t save a life but they can save a soul, because toys transport many of us back to times of happiness, of wonder and of innocence, when things were simpler and problems remedied more easily. Times change but the joy of toys doesn’t. I can recall going through toy exhibits at both the castle museum in York and a toy museum in Edinburgh and it was so thrilling not only to see toys from my childhood but toys from before. Toys have the power to make magic we never knew existed, even if it is only in our head. The Toy Makers has yielded many comparisons with Erin Morgensten’s The Night Circus but for me, this novel surpassed anything I have read before in a similar vein. I have truly been blown away into a world that I honestly believe I will carry with me forever more. If, like me, you are a Harry Potter fan, you will know what I mean when I say that this book matches up to that first trip to Diagon Alley, to Hogwarts and to Honeydukes or that journey up Enid Blyton’s faraway tree as a child but it is even more exciting as an adult. It isn’t only the description that is first rate though; Dinsdale’s narrative style and use of language pulls you in and flows so smoothly, you are carried away from the first page whether you are prepared for it or not. Some reviews have said it is too fantastical but I cannot rate this book highly enough. It isn’t always easy reading – prepare to have your heart broken in several places- but go in looking for magic. You won’t be disappointed!
Debbiereadsbook (1097 KP) rated Heated Beat in Books
Nov 12, 2020
wonderful books/narration!
Independent reviewer for Archaeolibrarian, I was gifted the audio version of this book.
My Mate Jack (book 1)
Don't you just love a friends to lovers book? With lots of misunderstandings and mix-ups along the way? Nothing else, just these two friends, one with a crush on his straight best friend? Made even better by some awesome narration??
This book right here!
Will has been in love with Jack forever, but Jack likes girls and Will doesn't. When Jack asks Will about kissing, then about having sex with men, Will allows Jack to get close. Then Jack goes to Ibiza and Will goes to uni and things are said, done, implied and the fall out is massive.
I want to be a bit picky here, cos, you know, I can, its my review but the only thing that would have made this book any better was if Jack had much more of a say. Apart from the epilogue, Jack doesn't get a say and I wanted him to, I so DESPERATELY wanted him to. I needed to know what was going through HIS mind when he kisses Jack, when they do what they do before they go their ways, and I don't get it. Had he been given a bigger say, I would be raving about this book! Oh, don't get me wrong, I LOVED this as it was but Jack? He would have been the icing on a pretty special cake.
Dan Calley narrates. Mr Calley is fast becoming a favourite. His voice carries a very British accent, and his reading voice is deep and even. His voices are amazing, and he hits the accents to a tee. He gets across all of Will's feelings about Jack. His reactions to what they do, to what comes after and to what he does when Jack fianlly, FINALLY, tells Will what he really wants. Or rather Who.
It's not a very long read/listen (108 pages/3 hours) but it packs a powerful punch. I didn't quite manage to listen to it in one go, cos that darn dayjob got in the way, but I very nearly did.
Apart from not getting enough of Jack, I cannot fault the book nor the narration so...
5 full and shiny stars for the book AND the narration.
~~same worded review will appear elsewhere~
Lucky Man (book 2)
This is book 2 in the Heated Beat series, and while it's not NECESSARY to read/listen to book one, My Mate Jack, I think you SHOULD, cos , you know, I said so! Jack and Will pop up a lot, since Jack lives with Finn, but it's not needed to have their story before this one. But you know, THAT book was a 5 star listen too!
Danny has drooled over Finn on stage for some time. Meeting him, going home with him, gave him the best night of his life. But Finn has a secret and Danny has a stressful job. Can they make it work?
This is a much darker, dirtier, deadly listen than book one, but I loved it just as much, maybe a tad more.
There is powerful and instant chemistry between Finn and Danny, and it carries right through the book. Its hot and steamy, but equally, deeply emotional, for both Finn and Danny. Finn's health issues, and what that meant in his previous relationships, are his primary concern. Danny is dealing with a murderer who has been on a spree across the country.
Danny reaction to Finn's health issues were not what Finn was expecting, but still, Danny struggled with Finn a couple of times, especially when he had an episode (is that the correct term? ) but Danny rode it out, and did his best to understand. Some serious research into Finn's condition has been done for this book, I'm not saying what that is, because spoilers, but the level of research into treatments and how people suffering this condition cope shows here.
I LOVED that this book is set in Nottingham. As a Nottingham gal, I got all the places that were mentioned, and loved that the shortened, locally used names for places like The Queens Medical Centre (big hospital!) are used. Loved the references to local towns, and how far they are away from Nottingham and the correct distances/times are used. Proper made my day!
I did get the murderer all wrong. I had a fairly close to Finn character pegged as the bad guy, but that all went belly up on me, so well played!
Both Finn and Danny have a say here, and I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO glad they do! I think this one, especially, would have suffered had we not got them both, so thank you Garrett Leigh, for making my day twice in this book!
Dan Calley narrates again, and again, he knocks it out the park!
His voices for Will and Jack are spot on from book to book, but Danny and Finn's voices are perfect too. He gets over all of Danny's concern about the relationship, given that he isn't out at work. He gets over all of his concern about Finn when he has an episode, and how he deals with the aftermath. Calley gets over all of Finn's insecurities, and what's going on in his brain. I felt for Finn, listening to him have internal conversations with himself about Danny and his feelings for Danny, and where their relationship was going.
Mr Calley NAILS it, he really does.
5 full and shiny stars for the book AND narration
**same worded review will appear elsewhere**
My Mate Jack (book 1)
Don't you just love a friends to lovers book? With lots of misunderstandings and mix-ups along the way? Nothing else, just these two friends, one with a crush on his straight best friend? Made even better by some awesome narration??
This book right here!
Will has been in love with Jack forever, but Jack likes girls and Will doesn't. When Jack asks Will about kissing, then about having sex with men, Will allows Jack to get close. Then Jack goes to Ibiza and Will goes to uni and things are said, done, implied and the fall out is massive.
I want to be a bit picky here, cos, you know, I can, its my review but the only thing that would have made this book any better was if Jack had much more of a say. Apart from the epilogue, Jack doesn't get a say and I wanted him to, I so DESPERATELY wanted him to. I needed to know what was going through HIS mind when he kisses Jack, when they do what they do before they go their ways, and I don't get it. Had he been given a bigger say, I would be raving about this book! Oh, don't get me wrong, I LOVED this as it was but Jack? He would have been the icing on a pretty special cake.
Dan Calley narrates. Mr Calley is fast becoming a favourite. His voice carries a very British accent, and his reading voice is deep and even. His voices are amazing, and he hits the accents to a tee. He gets across all of Will's feelings about Jack. His reactions to what they do, to what comes after and to what he does when Jack fianlly, FINALLY, tells Will what he really wants. Or rather Who.
It's not a very long read/listen (108 pages/3 hours) but it packs a powerful punch. I didn't quite manage to listen to it in one go, cos that darn dayjob got in the way, but I very nearly did.
Apart from not getting enough of Jack, I cannot fault the book nor the narration so...
5 full and shiny stars for the book AND the narration.
~~same worded review will appear elsewhere~
Lucky Man (book 2)
This is book 2 in the Heated Beat series, and while it's not NECESSARY to read/listen to book one, My Mate Jack, I think you SHOULD, cos , you know, I said so! Jack and Will pop up a lot, since Jack lives with Finn, but it's not needed to have their story before this one. But you know, THAT book was a 5 star listen too!
Danny has drooled over Finn on stage for some time. Meeting him, going home with him, gave him the best night of his life. But Finn has a secret and Danny has a stressful job. Can they make it work?
This is a much darker, dirtier, deadly listen than book one, but I loved it just as much, maybe a tad more.
There is powerful and instant chemistry between Finn and Danny, and it carries right through the book. Its hot and steamy, but equally, deeply emotional, for both Finn and Danny. Finn's health issues, and what that meant in his previous relationships, are his primary concern. Danny is dealing with a murderer who has been on a spree across the country.
Danny reaction to Finn's health issues were not what Finn was expecting, but still, Danny struggled with Finn a couple of times, especially when he had an episode (is that the correct term? ) but Danny rode it out, and did his best to understand. Some serious research into Finn's condition has been done for this book, I'm not saying what that is, because spoilers, but the level of research into treatments and how people suffering this condition cope shows here.
I LOVED that this book is set in Nottingham. As a Nottingham gal, I got all the places that were mentioned, and loved that the shortened, locally used names for places like The Queens Medical Centre (big hospital!) are used. Loved the references to local towns, and how far they are away from Nottingham and the correct distances/times are used. Proper made my day!
I did get the murderer all wrong. I had a fairly close to Finn character pegged as the bad guy, but that all went belly up on me, so well played!
Both Finn and Danny have a say here, and I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO glad they do! I think this one, especially, would have suffered had we not got them both, so thank you Garrett Leigh, for making my day twice in this book!
Dan Calley narrates again, and again, he knocks it out the park!
His voices for Will and Jack are spot on from book to book, but Danny and Finn's voices are perfect too. He gets over all of Danny's concern about the relationship, given that he isn't out at work. He gets over all of his concern about Finn when he has an episode, and how he deals with the aftermath. Calley gets over all of Finn's insecurities, and what's going on in his brain. I felt for Finn, listening to him have internal conversations with himself about Danny and his feelings for Danny, and where their relationship was going.
Mr Calley NAILS it, he really does.
5 full and shiny stars for the book AND narration
**same worded review will appear elsewhere**
HerCrazyReviews (247 KP) rated Rent: The Complete Book and Lyrics of the Broadway Musical in Books
Aug 24, 2019
AIDs Representation (1 more)
LGBTQIA+ Representation
Great Representation, Horrible Characters
I have never seen the musical Rent nor have I ever seen the movie (though I heard it is not as good and different from the musical). Therefore, my rating is based solely on this book and because of that, I may not be able to understand or enjoy it as much as I would have if I had watched the movie or musical first.
First off, I loved that the book (or rather, musical) was set during the AIDS crisis and showed LGBTQIA+ representation. I think that is fantastic because (a.) we are lacking in our current day representation of LGBTQIA+ characters (though, we are slowly beginning to have this become the norm.) and (b.) the AIDS crisis was not a good time in history. The American government was not doing much to help with this crisis and seemed to sort of sweep it aside. Now, I was not alive during the beginning of this crisis and therefore have learned from sources and not with my own experiences, but not much was being done and this was mostly because this was originally considered a “gay disease” and, sadly, people in the past have not treated the LGBTQIA+ community with the respect they deserve. Instead, because this was considered a “gay disease” it was considered unimportant and therefore the AIDS epidemic was ignored. Luckily, today we have better people who are trying their best to find a cure.
Second, while I extremely enjoyed the representation and awareness this book (or musical) brought I did not enjoy most of the characters. While I do believe that characters should have flaws (after all no one is perfect and that is part of what make us human) I did not appreciate the way the characters in the book seemed to make excuses. Especially the fact that they used others difficulties to try and better themselves. Not to mention, most of the characters seemed to accentuate their poorness and use it as a way to better themselves. One scene that really got to me was when Mark was starting to film a homeless person. He did save them from the police but even they said “My life’s not for you to make a name for yourself on” and “Hey artist you gotta dollar? I thought not,” (Pg.38). It literally stated that these people who claim themselves to be “artists” use this as an excuse to exploit others.
Another huge part of what I did not appreciate about this book would be the harmful relationship that most of the characters seem to be in. Most of these relationships seemed too toxic and seemed to revolve around awful and sometimes disgusting circumstances.
Maureen (Cheater) + Joanne = 💔
Maureen and Joanne were repeatedly arguing, breaking it off, then getting back together. Now, that alone already seems like it’s not a healthy foundation for any relationship but then we find out that Maureen is a HUGE cheater. Mark himself told Joanne that she used to cheat on him when they were together and even had a bit of evidence that she was doing it again.
Roger (Past Drug Addict) + Mimi (Drug User) = 💔
Now, Roger is one of the many characters in this musical to have AIDS and because he is a past drug user we can infer that he got AIDS from drugs, or from his ex-girlfriend. Anyway, his goal before he dies from AIDS is to write one last song so that his life could mean something. To make sure that his life was worth it (to have glory), and I actually admire him for that. Lots of people would give up and I think it’s amazing that he wants to continue to try to make his life worth living. However, Mimi comes in and started to spark a flame (or light a candle) with Roger. There’s just one problem. Mimi is a drug user. Plus, it seems like she is trying to get Roger to get back on drugs. Definitely not something a healthy and loving relationship would have.
Benny (At least 30yrs.) + Mimi (Younger than 19) = 💔
Now, this has to be the most disgusting relationship in the book. While I don’t mind couples having age differences I am one-hundred percent NOT behind underage people dating men who are at least thirty, if not forty, years old. This was revealed when we got told that Mimi use to date Benny before she met Roger. Mimi was nineteen when she met Roger and if she had a prior relationship with Benny she was most likely eighteen or under.
Finally, I wasn’t very happy with the ending of the book. Mimi’s sort-of “death” scene just wasn’t my thing. It seemed to be that the situation as a whole seemed too excessive. She was dead, then she was back, then she was dead again, and she managed to come back because Angel told her too. While Mimi is a main character and main character deaths are extremely sad this story was supposed to make people more aware of AIDS and it just seemed to be too fanciful for me. This is an extremely deadly disease and just because someone told you that it was not your time to die yet does not mean that you are not going to yet pass. However, this is fiction and this does happen.
Would I Recommend? No. I really enjoyed the representation this showed within the LGBTQIA+ community and the awareness it would bring to people about the AIDS crisis, but I thought the story itself was bad. The characters, in my opinion, were not written well and I especially did not enjoy their actions or choices.
First off, I loved that the book (or rather, musical) was set during the AIDS crisis and showed LGBTQIA+ representation. I think that is fantastic because (a.) we are lacking in our current day representation of LGBTQIA+ characters (though, we are slowly beginning to have this become the norm.) and (b.) the AIDS crisis was not a good time in history. The American government was not doing much to help with this crisis and seemed to sort of sweep it aside. Now, I was not alive during the beginning of this crisis and therefore have learned from sources and not with my own experiences, but not much was being done and this was mostly because this was originally considered a “gay disease” and, sadly, people in the past have not treated the LGBTQIA+ community with the respect they deserve. Instead, because this was considered a “gay disease” it was considered unimportant and therefore the AIDS epidemic was ignored. Luckily, today we have better people who are trying their best to find a cure.
Second, while I extremely enjoyed the representation and awareness this book (or musical) brought I did not enjoy most of the characters. While I do believe that characters should have flaws (after all no one is perfect and that is part of what make us human) I did not appreciate the way the characters in the book seemed to make excuses. Especially the fact that they used others difficulties to try and better themselves. Not to mention, most of the characters seemed to accentuate their poorness and use it as a way to better themselves. One scene that really got to me was when Mark was starting to film a homeless person. He did save them from the police but even they said “My life’s not for you to make a name for yourself on” and “Hey artist you gotta dollar? I thought not,” (Pg.38). It literally stated that these people who claim themselves to be “artists” use this as an excuse to exploit others.
Another huge part of what I did not appreciate about this book would be the harmful relationship that most of the characters seem to be in. Most of these relationships seemed too toxic and seemed to revolve around awful and sometimes disgusting circumstances.
Maureen (Cheater) + Joanne = 💔
Maureen and Joanne were repeatedly arguing, breaking it off, then getting back together. Now, that alone already seems like it’s not a healthy foundation for any relationship but then we find out that Maureen is a HUGE cheater. Mark himself told Joanne that she used to cheat on him when they were together and even had a bit of evidence that she was doing it again.
Roger (Past Drug Addict) + Mimi (Drug User) = 💔
Now, Roger is one of the many characters in this musical to have AIDS and because he is a past drug user we can infer that he got AIDS from drugs, or from his ex-girlfriend. Anyway, his goal before he dies from AIDS is to write one last song so that his life could mean something. To make sure that his life was worth it (to have glory), and I actually admire him for that. Lots of people would give up and I think it’s amazing that he wants to continue to try to make his life worth living. However, Mimi comes in and started to spark a flame (or light a candle) with Roger. There’s just one problem. Mimi is a drug user. Plus, it seems like she is trying to get Roger to get back on drugs. Definitely not something a healthy and loving relationship would have.
Benny (At least 30yrs.) + Mimi (Younger than 19) = 💔
Now, this has to be the most disgusting relationship in the book. While I don’t mind couples having age differences I am one-hundred percent NOT behind underage people dating men who are at least thirty, if not forty, years old. This was revealed when we got told that Mimi use to date Benny before she met Roger. Mimi was nineteen when she met Roger and if she had a prior relationship with Benny she was most likely eighteen or under.
Finally, I wasn’t very happy with the ending of the book. Mimi’s sort-of “death” scene just wasn’t my thing. It seemed to be that the situation as a whole seemed too excessive. She was dead, then she was back, then she was dead again, and she managed to come back because Angel told her too. While Mimi is a main character and main character deaths are extremely sad this story was supposed to make people more aware of AIDS and it just seemed to be too fanciful for me. This is an extremely deadly disease and just because someone told you that it was not your time to die yet does not mean that you are not going to yet pass. However, this is fiction and this does happen.
Would I Recommend? No. I really enjoyed the representation this showed within the LGBTQIA+ community and the awareness it would bring to people about the AIDS crisis, but I thought the story itself was bad. The characters, in my opinion, were not written well and I especially did not enjoy their actions or choices.
Cody Cook (8 KP) rated A Black Theology of Liberation in Books
Jun 29, 2018
James Cone is considered to be the founder of Black Liberation Theology, a variant of the Liberation Theology movement most widely connected with South American theologian Gustavo Gutierrez. Liberation Theology emphasizes those biblical concerns that white European flavored Christianity has often looked over– concerns like justice and liberation for the oppressed and downtrodden (Luke 4:16-21, Matthew 25:31-45, etc.). Though these emphases are quite important, in Liberation movements, they can often drown out other, extremely vital, elements of the Christian faith, as they clearly do in Cone’s Black Liberation Theology.
One major issue for Cone is one of authority. The experience of one group of people (the oppressed) becomes equivalent with universal truth, and not simply an important concern in Christian theology. In other words, Cone makes his own experience the judge of who God is and what God is for. While “white” (a term used by Cone not so much to reflect skin color but an oppressor mentality) Christianity commits this grave error without realizing it, Cone does so with full knowledge. So, for instance, while a conservative “white” theologian would say that his own views and actions *should* be directed by the scripture (whether or not he does in fact direct them by this standard), Cone makes the judgement of the oppressed black community the ultimate truth for them– and if mass violence against whites is decided by the group as the best means to effect their liberation, so be it. Cone explicitly distances himself from the approach of King, identifying more with the violence-prone philosophy of the Nation of Islam as propounded by Malcolm X. If someone criticizes his approach, he seems to assume that they’re doing so as a “white” oppressor and should be ignored– an oppressor has no moral right to question the rightness or wrongness of the actions of the people he is oppressing. This of course ignores the criticisms of violence, even from the oppressed, of black Christians like Martin Luther King Jr., Desmond Tutu, etc. Cone is also unfortunately either unfamiliar with or unconvinced by pacifist Christian claims to be committed to peaceful action, since he equates non-violence with inaction and acquiescence. While he is absolutely correct in seeing liberation as an important theme in the Christian faith, he, like “white” religionists, allows his own experience and emotions to determine what is right and wrong to the point of supporting evil in the interest of what he feels is best for his community. However, what can’t be said of Cone’s position on violence is that it is radical, because it is emphatically not. The political heroes of most white Americans are men who used violence to gain political autonomy. Thus, it is not radical for black men and women to look up to figures like Malcolm X and James Cone who advocate doing the same thing if it seems necessary for freedom and self-determination; it is merely status quo. The problem is that Jesus calls all men and women, regardless of color, to rise above the status quo and the myth of redemptive violence.
Seizing on that point, one major problem with Cone’s view of violent revolution is that when oppressed people rise up through violence, they become the oppressor– co-opting the tools of oppression and dehumanization. “Blacks” become “white” through the use of violence. Cone seems unaware of (doubtful) or unaffected by the history of the Bolshevik, Cuban, or French revolutions, wherein the oppressed quickly became the oppressors and became twofold more a child of hell than their oppressors. His view also reshapes Nat Turner, the slave who claimed to have been directed by God to murder white women and children, into an unqualified hero. Cone’s system re-establishes and re-affirms oppression– it does not end it.
For Cone, God is black and the devil is white, because God supports the oppressed and the devil supports the oppressor. But in so closely identifying God with blackness, the actions of those in the black community are now above being questioned, just like the actions of white enslavers were, according to them, above being questioned because they aligned themselves with God and those whom they oppressed with the devil.
What Cone is really trying to get at is that since Jesus supports the cause of the oppressed, the oppressor must so distance himself from his oppressor identity that he becomes indistinguishable from the oppressed– willing to suffer along with them– if he is to be Christ-like. In other words, the “white” must become “black.” Cone says that God can’t be colorless where people suffer for their color. So, where blacks suffer God is black. Taking this logic, which is indeed rooted in Scripture, where the poor suffer, God is poor. Where babies are killed in the womb, God is an aborted baby. Where gay people are bullied, God is gay. It is our obligation to identify with the downtrodden, because that’s what Jesus did. Paul, quoting a hymn of the church about Jesus, puts it this way:
“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
‘Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!'”
–Philippians 2:5-8
Jesus not only gives up his power to express love to the powerless by identifying with them, He also takes on their sin and suffers with and for them. This is the essence of the gospel, and it often gets lost when we translate it into our daily lives. For Cone, this important truth gets lost in the banner of black militantism and the cycle of violence. For so many American Christians, it gets lost when they reduce the political nature of Christianity to scolding those whose private expression of morality doesn’t line up with theirs. We refuse to identify with sinners (which is a category we all fit into) in love.
One major issue for Cone is one of authority. The experience of one group of people (the oppressed) becomes equivalent with universal truth, and not simply an important concern in Christian theology. In other words, Cone makes his own experience the judge of who God is and what God is for. While “white” (a term used by Cone not so much to reflect skin color but an oppressor mentality) Christianity commits this grave error without realizing it, Cone does so with full knowledge. So, for instance, while a conservative “white” theologian would say that his own views and actions *should* be directed by the scripture (whether or not he does in fact direct them by this standard), Cone makes the judgement of the oppressed black community the ultimate truth for them– and if mass violence against whites is decided by the group as the best means to effect their liberation, so be it. Cone explicitly distances himself from the approach of King, identifying more with the violence-prone philosophy of the Nation of Islam as propounded by Malcolm X. If someone criticizes his approach, he seems to assume that they’re doing so as a “white” oppressor and should be ignored– an oppressor has no moral right to question the rightness or wrongness of the actions of the people he is oppressing. This of course ignores the criticisms of violence, even from the oppressed, of black Christians like Martin Luther King Jr., Desmond Tutu, etc. Cone is also unfortunately either unfamiliar with or unconvinced by pacifist Christian claims to be committed to peaceful action, since he equates non-violence with inaction and acquiescence. While he is absolutely correct in seeing liberation as an important theme in the Christian faith, he, like “white” religionists, allows his own experience and emotions to determine what is right and wrong to the point of supporting evil in the interest of what he feels is best for his community. However, what can’t be said of Cone’s position on violence is that it is radical, because it is emphatically not. The political heroes of most white Americans are men who used violence to gain political autonomy. Thus, it is not radical for black men and women to look up to figures like Malcolm X and James Cone who advocate doing the same thing if it seems necessary for freedom and self-determination; it is merely status quo. The problem is that Jesus calls all men and women, regardless of color, to rise above the status quo and the myth of redemptive violence.
Seizing on that point, one major problem with Cone’s view of violent revolution is that when oppressed people rise up through violence, they become the oppressor– co-opting the tools of oppression and dehumanization. “Blacks” become “white” through the use of violence. Cone seems unaware of (doubtful) or unaffected by the history of the Bolshevik, Cuban, or French revolutions, wherein the oppressed quickly became the oppressors and became twofold more a child of hell than their oppressors. His view also reshapes Nat Turner, the slave who claimed to have been directed by God to murder white women and children, into an unqualified hero. Cone’s system re-establishes and re-affirms oppression– it does not end it.
For Cone, God is black and the devil is white, because God supports the oppressed and the devil supports the oppressor. But in so closely identifying God with blackness, the actions of those in the black community are now above being questioned, just like the actions of white enslavers were, according to them, above being questioned because they aligned themselves with God and those whom they oppressed with the devil.
What Cone is really trying to get at is that since Jesus supports the cause of the oppressed, the oppressor must so distance himself from his oppressor identity that he becomes indistinguishable from the oppressed– willing to suffer along with them– if he is to be Christ-like. In other words, the “white” must become “black.” Cone says that God can’t be colorless where people suffer for their color. So, where blacks suffer God is black. Taking this logic, which is indeed rooted in Scripture, where the poor suffer, God is poor. Where babies are killed in the womb, God is an aborted baby. Where gay people are bullied, God is gay. It is our obligation to identify with the downtrodden, because that’s what Jesus did. Paul, quoting a hymn of the church about Jesus, puts it this way:
“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
‘Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!'”
–Philippians 2:5-8
Jesus not only gives up his power to express love to the powerless by identifying with them, He also takes on their sin and suffers with and for them. This is the essence of the gospel, and it often gets lost when we translate it into our daily lives. For Cone, this important truth gets lost in the banner of black militantism and the cycle of violence. For so many American Christians, it gets lost when they reduce the political nature of Christianity to scolding those whose private expression of morality doesn’t line up with theirs. We refuse to identify with sinners (which is a category we all fit into) in love.
Piper (13 KP) rated Strangers: Prey at Night (2018) in Movies
Nov 27, 2019
Real-feeling Characters (2 more)
Escalating Tension
Some Excellent Scenes
Some Naff Shots (1 more)
Hammy Acting
Contains spoilers, click to show
I’ve heard a lot of trash about this movie, and only some of it is right. Don’t get me wrong - it has its downfalls. We’ll get to those. But it’s a genuinely fun horror movie and, considering the predictability of the slasher genre, it’s fairly terrifying: the suspense doesn’t let up from damn near the beginning. For full disclosure, I haven’t seen the original Strangers movie, and I’ve heard it’s a whole lot better than this 2018 sequel. But the fact that Prey at Night stands successfully alone as a movie means it doesn’t matter which order you watch them in - all I’d say is that it’s probably best not to pay much attention to the reviews on this one (as sefl-destructive as a comment like that might be). It’s impressive in its own right, and if this apparently-subpar sequel is anything to go by, the original must be worthwhile. I’ll let you know once I’ve actually seen it.
Now, onto the juicy stuff. There really isn’t a whole lot of bad to this movie, and what there is is fairly standard for modern horror movies. The plot is fairly predictable: people with knives hunt down people without (the good guys do have a single gun between them, and in a display that makes you genuinely shout at your television it never gets used); a dysfunctional American family gets torn completely apart; every single time you think the evil nasty villain man is dead, he stands up, just a little out of our good guy’s eyeline. It’s fairly repetitive - how much story can you get out of some knives and masks and a little bit of running? - and while it nicely strays from the standard twisty ending, there’s a hint of danger at the end that a) doesn’t make sense, b) doesn’t mean anything, and c) isn’t explored or explained so falls very short of what it’s trying to do. And that’s nearly all the bad out of the way, but I’d like to give an honourable mention to some very corny Raimi-esque camera zooms that, momentarily, take the viewer completely out of the film and just look terrible.
Having said that, most of the camerawork is good - shaky where it needs to be, dead straight when it works. There are some claustrophobic close-ups that leave you wondering just what the director’s hiding out of frame. And while watching a creepily-masked figure loom silently into frame can get a little less scary every time, it’s certainly well-shot. Despite the pitfalls, most of which are just so easy to slip into, the good parts to this movie mostly fall into the categories of character work and nice, understated gore. The bloody parts are suitably bloody, but they don’t become unrealistic. In fact, there are gory moments that seem meticulously well-crafted and you can almost feel the pain. The characters are annoying at times, they all have their own quirks and tightly-wound baggage, and there are places where their obviously set-up arcs just don’t get the resolution they need - hang on, why do I think this is a good film?
Here’s why. Because it’s real. People don’t always get resolution (okay, it isn’t always because one of the conflicting characters dies about five minutes into the experience, but we don’t always get closure, we don’t always get to fix relationships before it’s too late). The characters in this film are, despite everything, quite likeable once you get to know them, and there’s a truly heartbreaking moment fairly early on that can’t be shunned. The injuries these characters sustain throughout don’t just go away - they stick around, for the most part, slow them down, make them vulnerable. The setting is unassuming until you realise this family are literally the only characters in the film that aren’t dead (and quite beautifully mutilated) or wielding a knife/axe/pickup truck - and if you dare make the connection between a spooky trailer park and a certain Camp Crystal Lake, it makes sense. The slashers themselves are fairly unoriginal (I’m really trying not to stray into the negatives again) but they’re human. They can die. Their motives are revealed in a simple, nicely-put “Why not?” and it’s clear they don’t need a reason, this is just fun for them. The masks, obviously, add a little layer of creep, and there’s a swimming pool scene that really is quite beautifully done. Watching people get murdered to a corny, cheerful eighties soundtrack might get irritating, if it wasn’t established that that’s just a chilling preference of the primary slasher character. The popping-up-out-of-nowhere gimmick might get a little annoying if it wasn’t established that really, this is just that kind of movie. The fact that we never find out what Kenzie did to get her shipped off to boarding school, or who Tamara was (should I have seen the first movie? I’ll have to watch it soon or I just might be lambasted for my ignorance) didn't put us too out-of-place, because there are enough wonderful gore and inventive set-piece-driven slasher moments to remind you that, hang on, you don't really need to know. The tension builds, and it builds, and oh it keeps on building right until the end, and it’s the one thing about this film that's masterfully done.
At the end of the day, this isn’t a great movie. It’s certainly not perfect. But it’s good. It feels real, and it feels, in places, genuinely terrifying. It’s a fun watch and it hasn’t been ridiculously drawn-out like some recent films (I’m looking at you, Chapter Two) so it’s quick, it’s choppy, and there’s a half-decent scare every now and then. Will it scar you for life? Depends how you feel about Kim Wilde.
Now, onto the juicy stuff. There really isn’t a whole lot of bad to this movie, and what there is is fairly standard for modern horror movies. The plot is fairly predictable: people with knives hunt down people without (the good guys do have a single gun between them, and in a display that makes you genuinely shout at your television it never gets used); a dysfunctional American family gets torn completely apart; every single time you think the evil nasty villain man is dead, he stands up, just a little out of our good guy’s eyeline. It’s fairly repetitive - how much story can you get out of some knives and masks and a little bit of running? - and while it nicely strays from the standard twisty ending, there’s a hint of danger at the end that a) doesn’t make sense, b) doesn’t mean anything, and c) isn’t explored or explained so falls very short of what it’s trying to do. And that’s nearly all the bad out of the way, but I’d like to give an honourable mention to some very corny Raimi-esque camera zooms that, momentarily, take the viewer completely out of the film and just look terrible.
Having said that, most of the camerawork is good - shaky where it needs to be, dead straight when it works. There are some claustrophobic close-ups that leave you wondering just what the director’s hiding out of frame. And while watching a creepily-masked figure loom silently into frame can get a little less scary every time, it’s certainly well-shot. Despite the pitfalls, most of which are just so easy to slip into, the good parts to this movie mostly fall into the categories of character work and nice, understated gore. The bloody parts are suitably bloody, but they don’t become unrealistic. In fact, there are gory moments that seem meticulously well-crafted and you can almost feel the pain. The characters are annoying at times, they all have their own quirks and tightly-wound baggage, and there are places where their obviously set-up arcs just don’t get the resolution they need - hang on, why do I think this is a good film?
Here’s why. Because it’s real. People don’t always get resolution (okay, it isn’t always because one of the conflicting characters dies about five minutes into the experience, but we don’t always get closure, we don’t always get to fix relationships before it’s too late). The characters in this film are, despite everything, quite likeable once you get to know them, and there’s a truly heartbreaking moment fairly early on that can’t be shunned. The injuries these characters sustain throughout don’t just go away - they stick around, for the most part, slow them down, make them vulnerable. The setting is unassuming until you realise this family are literally the only characters in the film that aren’t dead (and quite beautifully mutilated) or wielding a knife/axe/pickup truck - and if you dare make the connection between a spooky trailer park and a certain Camp Crystal Lake, it makes sense. The slashers themselves are fairly unoriginal (I’m really trying not to stray into the negatives again) but they’re human. They can die. Their motives are revealed in a simple, nicely-put “Why not?” and it’s clear they don’t need a reason, this is just fun for them. The masks, obviously, add a little layer of creep, and there’s a swimming pool scene that really is quite beautifully done. Watching people get murdered to a corny, cheerful eighties soundtrack might get irritating, if it wasn’t established that that’s just a chilling preference of the primary slasher character. The popping-up-out-of-nowhere gimmick might get a little annoying if it wasn’t established that really, this is just that kind of movie. The fact that we never find out what Kenzie did to get her shipped off to boarding school, or who Tamara was (should I have seen the first movie? I’ll have to watch it soon or I just might be lambasted for my ignorance) didn't put us too out-of-place, because there are enough wonderful gore and inventive set-piece-driven slasher moments to remind you that, hang on, you don't really need to know. The tension builds, and it builds, and oh it keeps on building right until the end, and it’s the one thing about this film that's masterfully done.
At the end of the day, this isn’t a great movie. It’s certainly not perfect. But it’s good. It feels real, and it feels, in places, genuinely terrifying. It’s a fun watch and it hasn’t been ridiculously drawn-out like some recent films (I’m looking at you, Chapter Two) so it’s quick, it’s choppy, and there’s a half-decent scare every now and then. Will it scar you for life? Depends how you feel about Kim Wilde.
Lottie disney bookworm (1056 KP) rated What Once Was Mine in Books
Oct 25, 2021
𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒛𝒆𝒍’𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓?
As you will all know by now, I am in love with the Twisted Tales series and have to read each installment as they are released. What Once was Mine is the 12th Twisted Tale book and the 7th written by Liz Braswell so to say I was excited would be an understatement.
As always, TT books come with a tag line to lure you in and this one is “What if Rapunzel’s mother drank a potion from the wrong flower?” Yes, instead of the golden Sundrop flower, the ailing pregnant queen is mistakenly given a potion using the Moondrop flower, resulting in a silver-haired princess whose power kills rather than heals!
Of course, that casts the whole locking the princess in a tower concept into an entirely new light! However, many of the other elements remain the same as Disney’s ‘Tangled’ movie: Gothel is Rapunzel’s captor and “mother”, Flynn steals a crown and is on the run from the Stabbington brothers and Rapunzel is desperate to see the floating lights.
What Liz Braswell manages to do (very well, in my opinion) is to maintain all these similarities, keeping her readers rooted to the original story but also to bend the original fairytale into something a bit more mature, a bit darker and, in some cases, a bit more real.
“𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙙, 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙨, 𝙍𝙖𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙯𝙚𝙡”
What Once was Mine is written from Rapunzel’s perspective. Now, this may be an obvious choice, but it also gives Braswell the opportunity to show her protagonist in a slightly more mature light than we are used to. Yes, Rapunzel is scatty, enthusiastic and teeth-grittingly cheerful about everything but she also believes she is dangerous and that she belongs in the tower for the safety of others.
Rapunzel has always been told that her hair killed her parents and that Gothel has been charged with her care and protection. However, what I really enjoyed about Braswell’s Rapunzel is that, although she begins with the same blind faith in Gothel as she has in the movie, she soon develops an inner turmoil of emotions with regards to her captor, questioning where she spends her days and recognising the little digs often made at the daughter’s expense.
As her journey continues, Rapunzel observes other mother-daughter relationships and her doubt and distrust of Gothel begins to build as a result. Lords, ladies and bandits alike are hunting for Rapunzel in order to claim her as their prize but this couldn’t be orchestrated by her mother, the only family she has ever known, could it?
“𝘽𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛, 𝙍𝙖𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙯𝙚𝙡. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙨.”
I have conflicting feelings when it comes to the darker elements of What Once Was Mine. The inclusion of the very real Countess Bathory took me by surprise and was quite gruesome in places: not a problem for a grown-up Disney nerd but I’m not sure whether I will be passing this one along to the Mini Bookworm any time soon.
There is also the narrator of the story: a brother making up an alternative Rapunzel story for his sister while she is undergoing chemo. I understand this is an emotive topic for the author and I almost got it as a tool for the story-telling, enabling the use of quite modern, colloquial terms such as “murderhair” and enabling the creative inclusion of characters such as Maximus.
I really wanted this technique to be profound and make the story mean more, such as fairytales having an important place in the modern world for example. Unfortunately, it fell a little flat for me: it was an interesting tweak but it didn’t make me feel as much as I wanted it to.
It is not all doom and gloom though, Rapunzel’s perspective of the world provides comic moments: her (limited) knowledge of the world comes from the 37 books that she owns, leading to a moose that is definitely a squirrel and a cat which acts suspiciously like a fox. We are also not deprived of the regulars of The Snuggly Duckling, indeed all of your favourites from the film turn up for this novel.
Braswell’s characterisation when it came to Flynn was spot on in my opinion. The observation by Rapunzel that there is the “real” Flynn and then there is the charming, roguish mask he uses was perfect! Gina was also a great addition, desperately trying to be an adventurer/criminal and not being taken seriously just because she is a girl. The relationship between her and Flynn was adorable and, of course, Gina’s mother is just legendary.
“𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨; 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣 𝙪𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙛 𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙘𝙮”
The writing style isn’t for everyone and, I must admit, this is the twisted tale which I have probably put down and walked away from the most. However, if you can stick it through the slow sections the story is really worth it and provides a much-admired evolution of the Disney Princess.
Don’t get me wrong - in the animated movie Rapunzel is great and all but by the end she is a princess with a haircut and a smouldering husband. Braswell’s Rapunzel has magic that she needs to study, understand and control, she is a future Queen in the making and simply has more of a purpose than her animated counterpart.
“𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣”
What Once Was Mine brings a whole new depth to the characters of Disney’s Tangled. It gives us a new (frankly, disgusting) villain alongside all our favourite characters and definitely presents a creative twist on the traditional story. Don’t worry, Rapunzel still gets her Happily Ever After, but she fought a little harder for it this time around!
As you will all know by now, I am in love with the Twisted Tales series and have to read each installment as they are released. What Once was Mine is the 12th Twisted Tale book and the 7th written by Liz Braswell so to say I was excited would be an understatement.
As always, TT books come with a tag line to lure you in and this one is “What if Rapunzel’s mother drank a potion from the wrong flower?” Yes, instead of the golden Sundrop flower, the ailing pregnant queen is mistakenly given a potion using the Moondrop flower, resulting in a silver-haired princess whose power kills rather than heals!
Of course, that casts the whole locking the princess in a tower concept into an entirely new light! However, many of the other elements remain the same as Disney’s ‘Tangled’ movie: Gothel is Rapunzel’s captor and “mother”, Flynn steals a crown and is on the run from the Stabbington brothers and Rapunzel is desperate to see the floating lights.
What Liz Braswell manages to do (very well, in my opinion) is to maintain all these similarities, keeping her readers rooted to the original story but also to bend the original fairytale into something a bit more mature, a bit darker and, in some cases, a bit more real.
“𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙙, 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙨, 𝙍𝙖𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙯𝙚𝙡”
What Once was Mine is written from Rapunzel’s perspective. Now, this may be an obvious choice, but it also gives Braswell the opportunity to show her protagonist in a slightly more mature light than we are used to. Yes, Rapunzel is scatty, enthusiastic and teeth-grittingly cheerful about everything but she also believes she is dangerous and that she belongs in the tower for the safety of others.
Rapunzel has always been told that her hair killed her parents and that Gothel has been charged with her care and protection. However, what I really enjoyed about Braswell’s Rapunzel is that, although she begins with the same blind faith in Gothel as she has in the movie, she soon develops an inner turmoil of emotions with regards to her captor, questioning where she spends her days and recognising the little digs often made at the daughter’s expense.
As her journey continues, Rapunzel observes other mother-daughter relationships and her doubt and distrust of Gothel begins to build as a result. Lords, ladies and bandits alike are hunting for Rapunzel in order to claim her as their prize but this couldn’t be orchestrated by her mother, the only family she has ever known, could it?
“𝘽𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛, 𝙍𝙖𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙯𝙚𝙡. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙜𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙨.”
I have conflicting feelings when it comes to the darker elements of What Once Was Mine. The inclusion of the very real Countess Bathory took me by surprise and was quite gruesome in places: not a problem for a grown-up Disney nerd but I’m not sure whether I will be passing this one along to the Mini Bookworm any time soon.
There is also the narrator of the story: a brother making up an alternative Rapunzel story for his sister while she is undergoing chemo. I understand this is an emotive topic for the author and I almost got it as a tool for the story-telling, enabling the use of quite modern, colloquial terms such as “murderhair” and enabling the creative inclusion of characters such as Maximus.
I really wanted this technique to be profound and make the story mean more, such as fairytales having an important place in the modern world for example. Unfortunately, it fell a little flat for me: it was an interesting tweak but it didn’t make me feel as much as I wanted it to.
It is not all doom and gloom though, Rapunzel’s perspective of the world provides comic moments: her (limited) knowledge of the world comes from the 37 books that she owns, leading to a moose that is definitely a squirrel and a cat which acts suspiciously like a fox. We are also not deprived of the regulars of The Snuggly Duckling, indeed all of your favourites from the film turn up for this novel.
Braswell’s characterisation when it came to Flynn was spot on in my opinion. The observation by Rapunzel that there is the “real” Flynn and then there is the charming, roguish mask he uses was perfect! Gina was also a great addition, desperately trying to be an adventurer/criminal and not being taken seriously just because she is a girl. The relationship between her and Flynn was adorable and, of course, Gina’s mother is just legendary.
“𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨; 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣 𝙪𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙚𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙤𝙛 𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙘𝙮”
The writing style isn’t for everyone and, I must admit, this is the twisted tale which I have probably put down and walked away from the most. However, if you can stick it through the slow sections the story is really worth it and provides a much-admired evolution of the Disney Princess.
Don’t get me wrong - in the animated movie Rapunzel is great and all but by the end she is a princess with a haircut and a smouldering husband. Braswell’s Rapunzel has magic that she needs to study, understand and control, she is a future Queen in the making and simply has more of a purpose than her animated counterpart.
“𝙎𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙙 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣”
What Once Was Mine brings a whole new depth to the characters of Disney’s Tangled. It gives us a new (frankly, disgusting) villain alongside all our favourite characters and definitely presents a creative twist on the traditional story. Don’t worry, Rapunzel still gets her Happily Ever After, but she fought a little harder for it this time around!
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
Mandy and G.D. Burkhead (26 KP) rated Hottest Blood: The Ultimate in Erotic Horror in Books
May 20, 2018
Shelf Life – Hottest Blood: The Ultimate in Erotic Horror is Neither of Those Things
(I’m gonna go ahead and throw a disclaimer on up here: You are about to read something that deals with purportedly “erotic” subject matter. If you don’t like the sound of that word, you might wanna go elsewhere. If it’s actually-erotic things that offend you, though, you’ll be fine.)
I like short story compilations because you get a variety of content that’s just as easy to breeze through if you have the time as it is to get to a stopping point and put down if you don’t. I like horror fiction because it usually involves the super-natural, which interests me, and intense emotional responses, which are almost always a good thing in writing. And I like eroticism because I am a warm-blooded human being with a pulse. However, on the whole, I do not like Hottest Blood.
I wanted to, I did. Look at that cover. It’s equal amounts scary and sexy, both in completely safe, PG-13-at-most kind of ways. Unfortunately, Softcore Succubus here is both the scariest and the sexiest thing about this book
Bluntly analogized, you know that feeling you get when you come across something on the internet that disturbs and/or disgusts you, and then you learn that there’s a dedicated group of people that gets off on it? Most of the stories in this book are that feeling captured in words.
Case in point, the story “Damaged Goods” by Elizabeth Massie, which as far as I can tell is about a couple of physically abused, emotionally damaged, developmentally stunted kids somewhere around their early teens who live with a religious fringe cult being led out to a field to have sex with each other while a nameless U.S. President watches and masturbates before both kids are drowned in a river by their preacher/pimp caretaker.
Or there’s “Mr. Right” by Chris Lacher, which tells the story of a college student named Russ who has a secret fetish for the deformed women in the freak show at a nearby carnival – a fascination which leads to him getting held down and forcibly raped by a group of unwashed subhuman mutants, which the detailed descriptions make sure you understand are completely revolting to all five senses. The story ends with him being dumped out behind the fairgrounds while a small, legless girl happily informs him that this is how all carnival workers reproduce, and he can look forward to seeing his own mutant rape-spawn in the show next year.
Or there’s “Abuse” by Matthew Costello, which simply shows us how the arrest of a Peewee Herman surrogate goes down in an adult movie theater before ending with another man jerking off with the cold, dry, severed hand in his pocket as he contemplates getting a new one to replace it.
The tone of these three are pretty much par for the course for the rest of the book: thoroughly disturbing, and sex is involved, but the disturbing feeling stems from revulsion rather than fear, and the sex bits are so far on the other end of the spectrum from erotic that it feels like the authors are trying to punish their readers for even expecting to be aroused in any way.
Of course, I said myself earlier that intense emotional responses are “almost always a good thing in writing.” By that merit alone, this book technically succeeds; in fact, if it had billed itself as shock fiction instead of erotic horror, I’d begrudgingly give it a medal in its class. The “aw, what the hell?!” moments are not as artistically executed as, say, a Chuck Palahniuk read, and they tend not to have as much depth to them, but strictly in terms of making you wish that you could unread words, they get the job done.
But that isn’t the job that Hottest Blood was hired to do, and that’s not what it put on its resume. It said it was going to “heat the blood and chill the mind,” and promised that “terror never felt this sexy!” It would have been more appropriate to say that “sex never felt this terrible.”
All of that said, if you abandon any hope of seeing anything resembling erotica or horror (scary horror, anyway), there are a few stories in here that are decent reads – mostly because they try to say something with their subject matter rather than use it to see how thoroughly they can ruin the idea of sex for the reader. To give a few quick nods of approval:
Nancy Holder’s “I Hear the Mermaids Singing,” which opens the anthology, is a dark and modern re-imagining of “The Little Mermaid” that brutally points up the drawbacks to throwing away your whole life and family in order to pursue someone that you know nothing about outside of a few fleeting glimpses and lustful inner fantasies.
J.L. Comeau’s “Black Cars” is the narrative of a high-class chauffeur as he tells his passenger an increasingly mysterious story about a couple of his regular customers, culminating in a creepy twist payoff that, in retrospect, actually makes it count as a legitimate horror story, and a decently gripping one at that.
And “Safe at Home” by Steve and Melanie Tem, while decidedly and disturbingly unsexy, at least has good reason to be; it’s a short character study of a young woman who’d been molested as a child, and the lasting and complex psychological damage resulting thereof that prevents her from having any normal social life or relationships, even with someone whom she legitimately likes, someone who knows what’s happened and sincerely cares for her.
So for the handful of intriguing stories that don’t make you quit (or wish you had) mid-read out of revolted disappointment, I can’t completely condemn Hottest Blood. If you want to test your own threshold for repulsion but are understandably hesitant to use online image searches to this end, I heartily recommend it.
If you are legitimately turned on by the idea of a man eating a woman alive and then gestating her alien spawn inside his own bloated body until his head detaches and crawls away (“How Deep the Taste of Love,” John Shirley), I suppose I still heartily recommend it, though I do so from a safe distance.
If you want to read one of the few stories involved that aren’t horrible, I heartily recommend trying to find them on their own somewhere else first.
But if you want “the ultimate in erotic horror,” stay the hell away. Softcore Succubus is a trap.
I like short story compilations because you get a variety of content that’s just as easy to breeze through if you have the time as it is to get to a stopping point and put down if you don’t. I like horror fiction because it usually involves the super-natural, which interests me, and intense emotional responses, which are almost always a good thing in writing. And I like eroticism because I am a warm-blooded human being with a pulse. However, on the whole, I do not like Hottest Blood.
I wanted to, I did. Look at that cover. It’s equal amounts scary and sexy, both in completely safe, PG-13-at-most kind of ways. Unfortunately, Softcore Succubus here is both the scariest and the sexiest thing about this book
Bluntly analogized, you know that feeling you get when you come across something on the internet that disturbs and/or disgusts you, and then you learn that there’s a dedicated group of people that gets off on it? Most of the stories in this book are that feeling captured in words.
Case in point, the story “Damaged Goods” by Elizabeth Massie, which as far as I can tell is about a couple of physically abused, emotionally damaged, developmentally stunted kids somewhere around their early teens who live with a religious fringe cult being led out to a field to have sex with each other while a nameless U.S. President watches and masturbates before both kids are drowned in a river by their preacher/pimp caretaker.
Or there’s “Mr. Right” by Chris Lacher, which tells the story of a college student named Russ who has a secret fetish for the deformed women in the freak show at a nearby carnival – a fascination which leads to him getting held down and forcibly raped by a group of unwashed subhuman mutants, which the detailed descriptions make sure you understand are completely revolting to all five senses. The story ends with him being dumped out behind the fairgrounds while a small, legless girl happily informs him that this is how all carnival workers reproduce, and he can look forward to seeing his own mutant rape-spawn in the show next year.
Or there’s “Abuse” by Matthew Costello, which simply shows us how the arrest of a Peewee Herman surrogate goes down in an adult movie theater before ending with another man jerking off with the cold, dry, severed hand in his pocket as he contemplates getting a new one to replace it.
The tone of these three are pretty much par for the course for the rest of the book: thoroughly disturbing, and sex is involved, but the disturbing feeling stems from revulsion rather than fear, and the sex bits are so far on the other end of the spectrum from erotic that it feels like the authors are trying to punish their readers for even expecting to be aroused in any way.
Of course, I said myself earlier that intense emotional responses are “almost always a good thing in writing.” By that merit alone, this book technically succeeds; in fact, if it had billed itself as shock fiction instead of erotic horror, I’d begrudgingly give it a medal in its class. The “aw, what the hell?!” moments are not as artistically executed as, say, a Chuck Palahniuk read, and they tend not to have as much depth to them, but strictly in terms of making you wish that you could unread words, they get the job done.
But that isn’t the job that Hottest Blood was hired to do, and that’s not what it put on its resume. It said it was going to “heat the blood and chill the mind,” and promised that “terror never felt this sexy!” It would have been more appropriate to say that “sex never felt this terrible.”
All of that said, if you abandon any hope of seeing anything resembling erotica or horror (scary horror, anyway), there are a few stories in here that are decent reads – mostly because they try to say something with their subject matter rather than use it to see how thoroughly they can ruin the idea of sex for the reader. To give a few quick nods of approval:
Nancy Holder’s “I Hear the Mermaids Singing,” which opens the anthology, is a dark and modern re-imagining of “The Little Mermaid” that brutally points up the drawbacks to throwing away your whole life and family in order to pursue someone that you know nothing about outside of a few fleeting glimpses and lustful inner fantasies.
J.L. Comeau’s “Black Cars” is the narrative of a high-class chauffeur as he tells his passenger an increasingly mysterious story about a couple of his regular customers, culminating in a creepy twist payoff that, in retrospect, actually makes it count as a legitimate horror story, and a decently gripping one at that.
And “Safe at Home” by Steve and Melanie Tem, while decidedly and disturbingly unsexy, at least has good reason to be; it’s a short character study of a young woman who’d been molested as a child, and the lasting and complex psychological damage resulting thereof that prevents her from having any normal social life or relationships, even with someone whom she legitimately likes, someone who knows what’s happened and sincerely cares for her.
So for the handful of intriguing stories that don’t make you quit (or wish you had) mid-read out of revolted disappointment, I can’t completely condemn Hottest Blood. If you want to test your own threshold for repulsion but are understandably hesitant to use online image searches to this end, I heartily recommend it.
If you are legitimately turned on by the idea of a man eating a woman alive and then gestating her alien spawn inside his own bloated body until his head detaches and crawls away (“How Deep the Taste of Love,” John Shirley), I suppose I still heartily recommend it, though I do so from a safe distance.
If you want to read one of the few stories involved that aren’t horrible, I heartily recommend trying to find them on their own somewhere else first.
But if you want “the ultimate in erotic horror,” stay the hell away. Softcore Succubus is a trap.
Lee (2222 KP) rated Welcome to Marwen (2018) in Movies
Jan 11, 2019
Steve Carell (1 more)
Leslie Mann
This year, I made a resolution to try not to let critic reviews heavily influence my decision to go see a movie or not. In the period between Christmas and New year, I'd booked to go see Holmes and Watson, but when the very bad reviews for it started coming it, I decided to cancel, opting to continue lazing on the sofa with food, drink and Netflix instead. That particular choice I don't regret, but I feel there have been many occasions over the last year where I've either hated a movie the critics loved, or loved a movie the critics were negative about. Time to try and change that.
I almost did miss out on seeing Welcome to Marwen though, due to the large number of mediocre reviews I read. In fact, it doesn't seem to have appealed to the general public enough to keep it in the cinemas for very long at all. Having only opened here in the UK on New year's Day, the screening I went to last night was actually the last screening being shown at that particular cinema, and I was one of only a handful of people there watching it. What prompted me earlier this week to give it a go though was after listening to director Robert Zemeckis talk passionately about it, along with his other movies. It was a gentle reminder that this guy is responsible for so many of my favourite movies, and I decided to give it a shot. While I'm glad I did, and overall I enjoyed it a lot, I can certainly appreciate where some of the criticism is coming from.
Welcome to Marwen is based on the true story of Mark Hogancamp, and the 2010 documentary on his life title 'Marwencol'. Mark (played in the movie by Steve Carell) suffered a severe beating at the hands of a bunch of thugs following an altercation in a bar regarding his lifestyle choice of being a cross dresser. After nine days in a coma, the beating understandably left him traumatised, but it also left him without any memory his life prior to the attack - once a talented war illustrator, he now can't even write his own name. But Mark remained an artist, building a miniature World War II Belgian town called Marwen outside his home and populating it with dolls. Using them he creates scenes and a story which he then photographs, helping him to express and deal with his lack of memory, the pain and trauma he now experiences, and the relationships with the people around him. Captain Hogie is a fighter pilot, an Action Man/GI Joe figure representing Mark. The residents of Marwen are all women, alter egos of various people who have helped him in the past or continue to help him. The toyshop worker who supplies him with the dolls, a friend he met during rehab, a co-worker, his carer and the woman who came to his aid following his beating. The town is also terrorised regularly by a bunch of Nazis, representing the men responsible for attacking him. And whenever the Nazis are beaten and killed, they are brought back to life by a Belgian witch! When a woman called Nicol (Leslie Mann) moves in across the street, she strikes up a wonderful friendship with Mark, earning her own doll in the town of Marwen where she strikes up a relationship with Captain Hogie. As the movie progresses, Mark has to deal with the pending sentencing of his attackers and the anxiety surrounding an upcoming exhibition showcasing his photographs. Marwen, and its inhabitants, help him to work through all of this.
The scenes and stories in Marwen that Mark is creating and imagining are brought to life in the movie using impressive motion capture CGI which, if you've seen the trailer or any clips of the movie, will know looks incredible. When you think about the animation Zemeckis and his team were producing for The Polar Express back in 2004, through Beowulf and Disney's The Christmas Carol to where we are now with this movie, it's simply amazing how far we've come. Perfect recreations of the movie characters in doll form, moving and interacting with the real surroundings and the CGI is just faultless. But for the earlier parts of the movie, this aspect of the movie for me was for a while the most frustrating and dull. The movie opens with a big scene as Captain Hogie crashes his plane, comes across a group of Nazis before being rescued by the girls of Marwen and we get a few more of these lengthy sequences early on, with only short glimpses of Mark and his life inbetween. I found myself become interested and engrossed in the life of Mark, wanting to learn more, only to be snapped out of it by a not so interesting scene involving some dolls. Thankfully, the length of those scenes reduces over time, and as you begin to empathise more with Mark and his life, you start to appreciate more the reasons why a certain scene is playing out the way it is. At that point, I began to really appreciate and enjoy them a lot more.
My only issue overall with this movie is that I wouldn't really know the age range to pitch it at, and that's possibly why it doesn't appear to have done so well with audiences. You've got the fun elements involving the dolls and the CGI, but then some of these scenes do involve a fair bit of violence which actually appears quite realistic at times. Then you've got the trauma and the flashbacks involving the beating - the movie doesn't go as dark as it could, or maybe should have done with that subject matter, but I certainly wouldn't say this is a fun movie for all the family to enjoy. Which is a shame really because I did enjoy this a lot. Steve Carell does an outstanding job, and Leslie Mann is just wonderful as always. It's opened my eyes to some of the consequences of brain injury and made me want to learn more about Mark Hogancamp, which parts of the movie are true and which parts were added for entertainment. I'll be sure to try and watch the documentary at some point.
I almost did miss out on seeing Welcome to Marwen though, due to the large number of mediocre reviews I read. In fact, it doesn't seem to have appealed to the general public enough to keep it in the cinemas for very long at all. Having only opened here in the UK on New year's Day, the screening I went to last night was actually the last screening being shown at that particular cinema, and I was one of only a handful of people there watching it. What prompted me earlier this week to give it a go though was after listening to director Robert Zemeckis talk passionately about it, along with his other movies. It was a gentle reminder that this guy is responsible for so many of my favourite movies, and I decided to give it a shot. While I'm glad I did, and overall I enjoyed it a lot, I can certainly appreciate where some of the criticism is coming from.
Welcome to Marwen is based on the true story of Mark Hogancamp, and the 2010 documentary on his life title 'Marwencol'. Mark (played in the movie by Steve Carell) suffered a severe beating at the hands of a bunch of thugs following an altercation in a bar regarding his lifestyle choice of being a cross dresser. After nine days in a coma, the beating understandably left him traumatised, but it also left him without any memory his life prior to the attack - once a talented war illustrator, he now can't even write his own name. But Mark remained an artist, building a miniature World War II Belgian town called Marwen outside his home and populating it with dolls. Using them he creates scenes and a story which he then photographs, helping him to express and deal with his lack of memory, the pain and trauma he now experiences, and the relationships with the people around him. Captain Hogie is a fighter pilot, an Action Man/GI Joe figure representing Mark. The residents of Marwen are all women, alter egos of various people who have helped him in the past or continue to help him. The toyshop worker who supplies him with the dolls, a friend he met during rehab, a co-worker, his carer and the woman who came to his aid following his beating. The town is also terrorised regularly by a bunch of Nazis, representing the men responsible for attacking him. And whenever the Nazis are beaten and killed, they are brought back to life by a Belgian witch! When a woman called Nicol (Leslie Mann) moves in across the street, she strikes up a wonderful friendship with Mark, earning her own doll in the town of Marwen where she strikes up a relationship with Captain Hogie. As the movie progresses, Mark has to deal with the pending sentencing of his attackers and the anxiety surrounding an upcoming exhibition showcasing his photographs. Marwen, and its inhabitants, help him to work through all of this.
The scenes and stories in Marwen that Mark is creating and imagining are brought to life in the movie using impressive motion capture CGI which, if you've seen the trailer or any clips of the movie, will know looks incredible. When you think about the animation Zemeckis and his team were producing for The Polar Express back in 2004, through Beowulf and Disney's The Christmas Carol to where we are now with this movie, it's simply amazing how far we've come. Perfect recreations of the movie characters in doll form, moving and interacting with the real surroundings and the CGI is just faultless. But for the earlier parts of the movie, this aspect of the movie for me was for a while the most frustrating and dull. The movie opens with a big scene as Captain Hogie crashes his plane, comes across a group of Nazis before being rescued by the girls of Marwen and we get a few more of these lengthy sequences early on, with only short glimpses of Mark and his life inbetween. I found myself become interested and engrossed in the life of Mark, wanting to learn more, only to be snapped out of it by a not so interesting scene involving some dolls. Thankfully, the length of those scenes reduces over time, and as you begin to empathise more with Mark and his life, you start to appreciate more the reasons why a certain scene is playing out the way it is. At that point, I began to really appreciate and enjoy them a lot more.
My only issue overall with this movie is that I wouldn't really know the age range to pitch it at, and that's possibly why it doesn't appear to have done so well with audiences. You've got the fun elements involving the dolls and the CGI, but then some of these scenes do involve a fair bit of violence which actually appears quite realistic at times. Then you've got the trauma and the flashbacks involving the beating - the movie doesn't go as dark as it could, or maybe should have done with that subject matter, but I certainly wouldn't say this is a fun movie for all the family to enjoy. Which is a shame really because I did enjoy this a lot. Steve Carell does an outstanding job, and Leslie Mann is just wonderful as always. It's opened my eyes to some of the consequences of brain injury and made me want to learn more about Mark Hogancamp, which parts of the movie are true and which parts were added for entertainment. I'll be sure to try and watch the documentary at some point.
Kirk Bage (1775 KP) rated Coco (2017) in Movies
Mar 3, 2020 (Updated Mar 3, 2020)
As part of my project to compile a coffee table book called 21st Century cinema: 200 Unmissable Films, I have found it interesting, but not surprising, that almost 10% of the list since the year 2000 are animated features. It is an art form that Pixar and Disney especially, but many smaller studios, are excelling in, because of technological advances, and the free range of realising an imaginative vision. The trouble often is that they aren’t my first port of call anymore now I don’t have a kid around to watch them with. So it takes me some time to catch up on the good ones these days.
Also, for every good one there are several really lame ones, designed to get families into cinemas and take their money without much concession to a good script. It only takes the bad experience of a couple of those to put you off the genre as an adult. It can be hard to remember that some are made only with 6 year olds in mind. Frozen, for example. They have their place, and the phenomenon of which ones kids are drawn to is a different study altogether. For the purposes of my list, I am looking for the ones that can entertain young and older audiences at the same time. And, to date, no one has done that better than Pixar.
The benchmark, for me, remains Monsters Inc, The Incredibles and the Toy Story series. The latter especially, have a great knack of pleasing all generations. The key is always the writing. Animation styles and techniques can impress the eye, but it is always the theme, the relationships and the words that make an animated film enduring. Music also plays a big part; as does the level of humour. Both incredibly intangible arts that you can’t just buy.
I watched Coco on a Sunday morning – the perfect time to watch an animated film, by law! Chances are you will be a little hungover (I was) and susceptible to the inevitable sentimentality you are about to experience. The first thing that struck me was the colours! Embracing a Latin American cultural canvas, I don’t think I have ever seen such a vivid rainbow attacking my senses. From the naked flames of the candles, to the warm tones of the sunlight and the almost neon glow on display around the dead and the world of the afterlife, it was a visual treat I can honestly say I have never experienced before.
Oh, yes, Coco is about dying, if you didn’t know! And to say more about the genius of their approach to it, would be classed as a spoiler! The action takes place on Diá de Muertos (the day of the dead), when family members can revisit their loved ones, as long as they have been remembered. Our hero, young Miguel, loves music. But his family have banned him from listening to, or playing, it because of the shame surrounding a long dead ancestor. The magic of the day leads him to the underworld of the dead, to find out the truth and save the day.
Of course, once there, he meets all sorts of strange characters, and is lead on a fateful journey with lots of unexpected twists. Again, we won’t go into who, or why for the sake of spoilers. Suffice to say, the ideas, emotion and sense of righteousness flow, stirred up in the mix of constant moments of humour, some that land, some that don’t quite, at a pace fitting, and demanded, by young audiences. The ultimate aim being to reveal the truth behind the family story and to allow the dead to be remembered for their real worth.
On the negatives first: it is all pitched at quite a young audience, in the same way one of Pixar’s less successful films, Cars, is. Which means a lot of the humour lacks the sophistication needed to make it a classic. Also, for a film about the love and joy of music, the songs are only OK, and not especially memorable, although the Oscar winning main theme “Remember Me” serves its purpose very well in the climax. There are also one or two dips in the pacing of scenes that break the spell; surely the cornerstone rule of animated films: don’t drop the ball! Something both Wall-E and Up do at points, spoiling the overall impression of something so glorious in their best moments.
The power of Grandmas
To be more positive, we have to acknowledge the very, very high bar that Pixar set themselves. From an animation point of view, if this film had been released in 2001, we’d be in raptures about it! It is beautiful to look at! And the attention to detail is extraordinary, allowing for many re-watches, just to see the things they have put in there to largely amuse themselves. As a vision of an idea brought to life it is a consummate success! It is, essentially, so likeable. And at its heart, once again, right on the money.
It isn’t called Miguel. It isn’t called The Day of the Dead. It is called Coco. And by the end, you realise why that is important. Death is sad. Dementia is also an awful, awful thing. The strength of Coco is taking these difficult subjects and shining a meaningful light on them, that not only comments intelligently on them, but breaks the heart with the truth of it all. It takes a while to get there with this one, but the pay-off is sublime, yet again! Remember me, a simple sentiment that goes a long, long way!
As a side note, there is a controversial, but massively effective medical technique being utilised in the real world, with alzheimers sufferers, that uses music to trigger memory. It’s application and results are astonishing, for their ability to bring people “back to life”. Which, naturally, moved me immensely. To think the best moment of Coco isn’t just wish fulfilment in a sentimental world, but a real thing that can be done!
Sentimentality aside, Coco is a good film, in every sense of the word. As a parent, I would revel in the opportunity to show this to a child, for the positive conversations it might invoke. The aspects of cinema magic needed to make it an experience worth having are all there. To fault it is only to be unnecessarily picky. Better to go on the journey and enjoy it for what it is. Which, increasingly, is my mantra for watching anything. Who would not hope that someone chooses to celebrate life, with the thought “Remember Me”?
Also, for every good one there are several really lame ones, designed to get families into cinemas and take their money without much concession to a good script. It only takes the bad experience of a couple of those to put you off the genre as an adult. It can be hard to remember that some are made only with 6 year olds in mind. Frozen, for example. They have their place, and the phenomenon of which ones kids are drawn to is a different study altogether. For the purposes of my list, I am looking for the ones that can entertain young and older audiences at the same time. And, to date, no one has done that better than Pixar.
The benchmark, for me, remains Monsters Inc, The Incredibles and the Toy Story series. The latter especially, have a great knack of pleasing all generations. The key is always the writing. Animation styles and techniques can impress the eye, but it is always the theme, the relationships and the words that make an animated film enduring. Music also plays a big part; as does the level of humour. Both incredibly intangible arts that you can’t just buy.
I watched Coco on a Sunday morning – the perfect time to watch an animated film, by law! Chances are you will be a little hungover (I was) and susceptible to the inevitable sentimentality you are about to experience. The first thing that struck me was the colours! Embracing a Latin American cultural canvas, I don’t think I have ever seen such a vivid rainbow attacking my senses. From the naked flames of the candles, to the warm tones of the sunlight and the almost neon glow on display around the dead and the world of the afterlife, it was a visual treat I can honestly say I have never experienced before.
Oh, yes, Coco is about dying, if you didn’t know! And to say more about the genius of their approach to it, would be classed as a spoiler! The action takes place on Diá de Muertos (the day of the dead), when family members can revisit their loved ones, as long as they have been remembered. Our hero, young Miguel, loves music. But his family have banned him from listening to, or playing, it because of the shame surrounding a long dead ancestor. The magic of the day leads him to the underworld of the dead, to find out the truth and save the day.
Of course, once there, he meets all sorts of strange characters, and is lead on a fateful journey with lots of unexpected twists. Again, we won’t go into who, or why for the sake of spoilers. Suffice to say, the ideas, emotion and sense of righteousness flow, stirred up in the mix of constant moments of humour, some that land, some that don’t quite, at a pace fitting, and demanded, by young audiences. The ultimate aim being to reveal the truth behind the family story and to allow the dead to be remembered for their real worth.
On the negatives first: it is all pitched at quite a young audience, in the same way one of Pixar’s less successful films, Cars, is. Which means a lot of the humour lacks the sophistication needed to make it a classic. Also, for a film about the love and joy of music, the songs are only OK, and not especially memorable, although the Oscar winning main theme “Remember Me” serves its purpose very well in the climax. There are also one or two dips in the pacing of scenes that break the spell; surely the cornerstone rule of animated films: don’t drop the ball! Something both Wall-E and Up do at points, spoiling the overall impression of something so glorious in their best moments.
The power of Grandmas
To be more positive, we have to acknowledge the very, very high bar that Pixar set themselves. From an animation point of view, if this film had been released in 2001, we’d be in raptures about it! It is beautiful to look at! And the attention to detail is extraordinary, allowing for many re-watches, just to see the things they have put in there to largely amuse themselves. As a vision of an idea brought to life it is a consummate success! It is, essentially, so likeable. And at its heart, once again, right on the money.
It isn’t called Miguel. It isn’t called The Day of the Dead. It is called Coco. And by the end, you realise why that is important. Death is sad. Dementia is also an awful, awful thing. The strength of Coco is taking these difficult subjects and shining a meaningful light on them, that not only comments intelligently on them, but breaks the heart with the truth of it all. It takes a while to get there with this one, but the pay-off is sublime, yet again! Remember me, a simple sentiment that goes a long, long way!
As a side note, there is a controversial, but massively effective medical technique being utilised in the real world, with alzheimers sufferers, that uses music to trigger memory. It’s application and results are astonishing, for their ability to bring people “back to life”. Which, naturally, moved me immensely. To think the best moment of Coco isn’t just wish fulfilment in a sentimental world, but a real thing that can be done!
Sentimentality aside, Coco is a good film, in every sense of the word. As a parent, I would revel in the opportunity to show this to a child, for the positive conversations it might invoke. The aspects of cinema magic needed to make it an experience worth having are all there. To fault it is only to be unnecessarily picky. Better to go on the journey and enjoy it for what it is. Which, increasingly, is my mantra for watching anything. Who would not hope that someone chooses to celebrate life, with the thought “Remember Me”?