Critical Myth-Interpretations

This is the fourth book in the highly successful series, as nearly everyone on the planet knows.  This is also the first novel in the series that I read before watching the related film (which is, at the time of writing, on my Netflix queue).  Right from the beginning, I realized that it would do the story a disservice to see the abridged and altered form of the narrative; the sheer size of the novel demands first attention.

If “Prisoner of Azkaban” was a step away from the whimsy of childhood (a phrase I use often in discussing the first two books), then this is a massive leap towards the complications and trials of the teenage years.  More than that, but after threatening to bring Voldemort back at least twice, the author finally makes it happen.

The means to that end is the most controversial element of the book: the Triwizard Tournament.  This tournament is at the heart of Voldemort’s plan to restore himself to physical form, and as a plot device, it is a nice touch.  Certainly there is a great deal of complication surrounding it, and within that complexity, there appears to be a rather obvious plot hole.  In fact, the plot hole is so massive that it threatens to make the entire point of the Triwizard Tournament moot.  The author tried to fix the problem, but it’s rather hard to ignore.

I thought of the plot hole, to be honest.  In fact, I was struck at how closely the book resembled the Harry Potter version of a classic James Bond novel.  Voldemort hatches inexplicably and unnecessarily complex evil plot, Harry survives that plot long enough to face down Voldemort, Voldemort binds Harry and then monologues for pages about his plans to date, and in the end, Harry manages (through courage and luck) to escape certain doom to fight again.

Frankly, it doesn’t matter.  The brilliance of the tale is how quickly it turns from a relatively standard adventure involving a contest between wizards into a gloriously dark and shattering victory for Voldemort.  Absolutely nothing is the same anymore after the final 100 pages, and one is left stunned by how well the author managed to build to that inevitable moment.  I was most appreciative of how well the author incorporated tons of foreshadowing into the rest of the novel, masking it from the reader by focusing on Harry’s state of mind.  Because he had other things on his mind, because he missed the signs and portents, the reader was equally fooled.

Most of those elements will resonate with young readers.  Harry struggles with the darker side of popularity and celebrity, Ron struggles with his family’s fortunes (or lack thereof), and Hermione struggles with the realities that come with addressing societal wrongs.  There’s also the emergence of strong romantic attraction and interest, which only adds to the potential for conflict between friends.  One would expect all of these issues to continue into the future, since it is the most obvious source of resistance against the need to band together.

The author uses Rita Skeeter as an outside source of pressure, reflecting the tabloid media all too honestly in the process.  But this is also utilized as a subtle influence on the Ministry of Magic.  The Ministry has always carried a disturbing edge, but by the end of the novel, it becomes a telling vehicle for political criticisms.

The last 100 pages are an important turning point.  While “Prisoner of Azkaban” brought heaps of darkness to the world of Hogwarts, much of this novel still leaves open the possibility of returning to a somewhat simpler life.  The tournament is dangerous, but very reminiscent of earlier trials.  That is simply not possible after the return of Voldemort.  Now the series turns into a struggle to prepare and survive, even if it means fighting former allies in the process.

To achieve that end, Harry must set aside childish things and accept the mantle of adult responsibility.  That alone makes the end of the novel more devastating; Harry’s innocence is shattered, and for some readers, it will be a similar experience.  That is an important consideration; after reading this book, I am compelled to speak with my daughter about her reactions to the content.

I couldn’t help but draw a comparison to Tolkien in that respect.  For my generation, we began with “The Hobbit” and quickly moved on to “The Lord of the Rings”, often in the later years of grade school.  Those who grasped the meaning were changed by the experience; they had willingly endured some difficult and sobering lessons about life and death.  Now that the Harry Potter series is complete, a new generation may very well find themselves going through the same process.

Is that a good thing?  In this age of complete media saturation, it’s nearly impossible to shield our children from the ills of the world.  We sometimes try to keep the most painful moments from them in the hopes that the light in their eyes won’t diminish even in the slightest, because as long as we see it reflected there, we can convince ourselves that the source is still within ourselves.  Just as often, it blinds us to the fact that they’re already exposed to it, and they look to us to help them understand and cope.

So I can forgive the plot holes and the clutter along the way, because the author has given this generation a powerful gift.  For my generation, Tolkien was something to be shared together, because most of our parents never read it.  We had to absorb and consider its meaning on our own.  Rowling may not have created a mythology to stand the test of time, but she has created a world accessible to child and parent alike, and a context for having the kinds of discussions that are all too often avoided.

Rating: 8/10

This is the third book in the ever-popular series, and what I would term as the beginning of the “complication” phase of the overall story. The first two books were prologue/introduction, painting a relatively whimsical portrait of a magical world with some easily recognizable heroes and villains. This book begins the process of expanding on that foundation, and that leads to a recognizable leap in overall quality.

Nothing is quite so simple anymore, and that makes the third year at Hogwarts a lot more interesting. Harry finds himself targeted by a follower of You-Know-Who, and that leads to more information about his parents’ murder and the context surrounding it. The threat seems to come from Sirius Black, and as a security precaution, the guards of Azkaban (where Black was imprisoned) are given authority to guard the perimeter of Hogwarts.

The dementors are a particularly fun creation, because they immediately drench the entire narrative in their darkness. Nothing in the first two books compares to the dementors, and that serves to drive home the dread. In the case of the first two novels, I felt that the films did a better job of manufacturing and communicating the details of the Potterverse mythos. In this case, the film version merely brings the details to life.

This is also the first book where the novel is vastly superior to the film, as stylistically satisfying as the film may be. The film emphasizes the twist at the end of the novel involving Hermione and her time management skills, minimizing much of the detail in the relationship between Padfoot, Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs. That relationship is actually the core of the novel, and it is vitally important to the overall arc of the series. Those chapters are the best work in the series up to that point.

Despite the darkness, the whimsy is not entirely lost. Besides Sirius (the “dog star”, naturally), the next best addition to the cast is Remus Lupin, the latest unfortunate soul to take on the Defense Against the Dark Arts mantle. Lupin is a werewolf; hence the obvious name choice. What makes this use of somewhat silly names so effective is the more obvious discordance: childish fancy juxtaposed with more mature drama.

While still a very quick read (I tackled this one in a couple of days), it does not leave the reader with the slightly empty feeling produced by the first two novels. It stands as a strong transition into the heady material to come, and several key characters and plot elements are introduced. This is, in many respects, where the series truly begins.

Rating: 8/10

This is the final installment of the franchise for the PS2, which had an interesting history with the Final Fantasy series.  Final Fantasy X was a massive hit for the console in its earliest days, taking the 3D adventures on the original PlayStation to a completely new level.  It was popular enough to spawn the first true sequel to a Final Fantasy game (X-2), which has since become a norm for the franchise.  Final Fantasy XI was a MMORPG, and it took quite some time for XII to see the light of day.

Final Fantasy XII sets aside the classic turn-based format of previous installments in favor of the real-time format of the MMORPG version.  Battles are fought in the same world as exploration, which allows the game to proceed at a much faster pace.  Granted, the game still took me about 80 hours to complete, but that was mostly due to the challenge presented over the course of the story.

The story itself has certain Shakespearian qualities, focusing on empires and ultimately the desire to forge man’s destiny by stealing the power of the gods (more or less).  Vaan is a young man in the city of Rabanastre, the capital of a nation overrun by an enemy Archadian empire.  Eventually, he and his friend Penelo wind up helping the Princess Ashe and her bodyguard Basch defeat the Archadian Empire and restore freedom.  Sky pirates Balthier and Fran also join them.

With few exceptions, the player can choose a party and roam the unlocked portions of the world of Ivalice forever.  As each new major turn in the story is completed, the available regions expand.  It’s a massive amount of territory to explore.  Transport crystals allow for quick travel once they are unlocked.

All enemies can be seen before encountered; there are very few random battles in the course of the game.  As previously mentioned, the combat is real-time, and the party consists of three members (plus, now and then, a guest).  To aid in the administration of certain tasks (such as healing, status effects, and so on), the player can assign “gambits” to party members.  This is very important, because as the game progresses, the gambits allow the player to focus on the task at hand, strategizing the use of “gambits” to specific types of enemies.

To keep the game from becoming too tedious, Vaan is part of a Hunt Club, and he can accept commissions to hunt down difficult enemies over the course of the game.  This generally results in getting money, special weapons, and plenty of experience.  More difficult hunts involve espers (basically, summons), which can then be used by the party.  Every character also has the potential to acquire a “Quickening”, a special attack ability.  However, in this game, the summoning/Quickening abilities are almost unnecessary; the party, once strong enough, can handle most situations with standard attacks.

That equipment can be hard to buy, however.  Enemies no longer drop money; instead, they drop loot, which can then be sold at various vendors.  Buying the weapon is only half the battle.  One must also purchase the license for the weapon using license points, also acquired after defeating an enemy.  This does require a bit of leveling up, which can get tiresome; I wound up taking a break in the middle of the game specifically to keep it from getting boring and repetitive.

Graphically, this is one of the best looking games on the PS2, even if the color palette of the game is a bit too light for my tastes.  The environments are massive and highly-detailed, and the cutscenes are better than ever.  After playing this game to its stunning conclusion, I was left drooling over the prospects of Final Fantasy XIII on the PS3 and the anticipated graphics leap.

On the other hand, I was a bit disappointed by the character arcs.  While the larger story was resolved at the end, the characters were never given much exploration.  This is really Ashe’s story, with a strong subplot for Balthier.  Vaan, the central character, doesn’t change much at all and ends up a supporting character for the game.

That said, it is a rewarding game experience, especially for RPG fans, and it was definitely worth the money and the time!

Rating: 9/10

This is, of course, the second book in the Harry Potter series, detailing Harry’s second year at Hogwarts and the evolution of his relationship to his friends and the world of magic.  Like the first book, I saw the film before making my way to the text.  Unlike the first book, however, I found that the book stood up well under its own merits.

Much of the same empty whimsy is still there in the story, but there’s an incremental step towards a more mature perspective that I could happily appreciate.  The story is still a bit bare at times (as evidenced by the fleshed out portions of the film), but the silliness slowly but surely gives way to cleverness.  The plot itself is less obvious, and more time is spent on the characters than the simple progression from event to event.

That was my main complaint about the first book; every character was defined by a simple set of characteristics.  Those characteristics are still in place (sometimes to an unfortunate degree), but enough complication sets in to make things interesting.  The setting becomes a platform for exploration of social concepts like racism and fame.  It’s all a bit heavy-handed, but given the audience, that’s hardly surprising.

The book is still despairingly thin, and because the story is more complicated, there’s still a shallow aspect to the overall story.  The insight into Harry’s thought process is worth the time, however, because this book begins to incorporate much of his personal history into the overall tale.  I love serialized storytelling, so I like the effort taken to introduce ideas that will obviously become important later in the series.

The pacing is also better, but in that regard, the film still manages to flesh out ideas that were glossed over in the written prose.  As the novels get longer and the complexity emerges, I suspect that will resolve itself.  This book is still part of the overall “introduction” phase of the series, after all.  If the first novel was the prologue, then this is when the story begins in earnest, peeling back the seemingly whimsical surface to expose the darker layers underneath.

Rating: 7/10

This is the twelfth book in the classic James Bond series, and effectively the last full length tale written exclusively by the author.  The unofficial “Blofeld Trilogy” comes to a close in an unusual fashion.  Where “Thunderball” and “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” were both energetic action tales, “You Only Live Twice” is far more subtle.  Unfortunately, while some of the more sexist elements are avoided, so is the most necessary plot element.

The previous novel ended with Bond’s wife dead, assassinated by Blofled, and Bond on death’s door.  Bond recovers, but he’s clearly not the same.  His slow but steady descent into darkness and self-doubt, well explored in the final few novels, has hit another peak.  Since his wife’s death, his missions have been failures, and Blofeld is nowhere to be found.  He is given one last chance to “reboot” his confidence and get his fire back, and this mission takes him to Japan.

The first half of the novel details the long process of Bond’s education in the Japanese culture of the period.  It is mostly a series of conversations between Bond and Tiger Tanaka, his contact in the Japanese secret service.  Undoubtedly, that material was revealing for its time, given the post-WW2 sentiments, but now it is not quite as engaging.  The highlights include a criticism of American culture that, given the period, was quite prophetic.

Bond’s mission is against an odd foreigner who has created a garden of death, appealing to those within the Japanese culture seeking expiation of dishonor.  As it turns out, this foreigner is Blofeld.  It takes half the book to get to that revelation (hardly shocking), and yet Bond’s wife and his psychological reaction to her death are barely mentioned.  This is a massive oversight, considering that it is precisely the reason why Bond makes the mission a personal quest for vengeance (something also downplayed significantly).

Worse, Blofeld’s plan is completely inexplicable.  The first two gambits involved nuclear terrorism and biological warfare.  To a certain extent, this kept the Bond series grounded in a sense of realism.  Blofeld’s gambit in this novel is so obscure that I’m still not sure I understand the point of it all.  That lack of focus makes this final mission dissatisfying.

The love interest, Kissy Suzuki, is the typical mysterious Asian woman, and of course she falls for Bond.  Thankfully, she is equally resourceful, if not more so, despite the ridiculous name.  Bond is completely out of his element, while Kissy takes every change in her life naturally and without much concern.  This is played up as part of her “mysterious” religion, but it works for the purpose intended.

Bond’s final showdown with Blofeld is so short and anticlimactic that it undermines the entire trilogy of novels.  Bond does act out of personal vengeance, but the novel never takes the reader into that dark world.  Bond gets caught, endures a little torturous exposition, and then kills Blofeld, barely surviving in the process.  There’s almost no complication to it, and that is deeply disappointing.

Rating: 5/10

In my reviews for the “Legends of Dune” trilogy, I outlined the specific criticisms I’ve had for the Herbert/Anderson “Dune” novels.  While I found the ideas to be in keeping with the Dune universe in general, many of the details fail to mesh with the original series.  More than that, the writing style and quality is vastly inferior, often incorporating modern modes of speech.  Characterization is incredibly shallow, which forces more attention on the plot, which often relies on convenience and contrivance.

In this particular novel, the authors had more material to work with than the “Legends” trilogy, so the inconsistencies could have been avoided.  Considering how often Brian Herbert claims the authority of copious notes and a self-generated “concordance”, it’s shameful how often basic information from the original series has been overlooked or simply missed.

I was reminded, reading this particular book, of a trilogy of novels released quite some time ago.  They were meant as a “final Foundation trilogy”, effectively taking the most famous series written by Isaac Asimov and bringing it to a conclusion.  When it came time to choose the authors for this project, it did not come down to a relatively popular writer of derivative pump science fiction novels.  The chosen authors were all hard science fiction writers with a long and impressive pedigree: Greg Bear, Gregory Benford, and David Brin.

One may debate the success of that trilogy, particularly in terms of satisfying the objective of wrapping up the “Foundation” trilogy, but the anticipated quality of the writing was there.  The authors were chosen based on their ability not to emulate Asimov but to apply their own considerable and proven talents to his mythos.

This is where I believe Kevin J. Anderson fails to measure up.  His style is better suited to the familiarities of pulp fiction.  There’s a proven market for that kind of material, and within that milieu, he does very well.  But is that style truly suited to the “Dune” universe?  After reading four books of the Herbert/Anderson partnership, I would say it’s not.  Every time an interesting concept emerges, the shallow writing style detracts from any nuance that might be found.

Every time I read one of these Herbert/Anderson novels, I find myself wishing that a more serious co-author had been found to honor Frank Herbert’s legacy.  Would the mistakes still be present?  Quite possibly.  But a richer, character-driven approach could have made up for the difference.

Rating: 6/10

As the center volume of the Empire trilogy, this could have been the novel equivalence of “marking time”.  Middle volumes tend to complicate situations with little or no resolution in the process.  This novel, however, picks up the story within days after the first novel and takes the story to a conclusion that could have easily been the end of Mara’s rise to power in and of itself.

Mara’s struggle against the Minwanabi escalates to what, in essence, is a chess game to the death.  Being a relative amateur at the Great Game, Mara appears to be out of her depth.  The Minwanabi slowly but surely plot and scheme, and for the most part, they are successful.  The authors seem to recognize that her situation should be grim and almost hopeless, given that they found a way to challenge Mara internally and offer a reason for her eventual success.

The character of Kevin keeps the book from becoming a retread of the action and drama from “Daughter of the Empire”.  His introduction is a bit quick and simple, to the point that his survival as written relies on Mara’s whim more than his apparent merit, but he quickly becomes a more organic element of the tale.

Initially, Kevin is the man who finally introduces Mara to womanly delight, and they explore that option quite often.  It is never explicit, so while the romance elements are there, they are handled deftly and maturely.  Eventually Kevin offers his Midkemian perspective on Tsurani politics, giving Mara the element of surprise in her dealings with the Minwanabi.

This all takes place against the backdrop of the events described in the second half of “Magician”, right up until the end of the Riftwar.  Mara manages to outscheme the Minwanabi and reform Tsurani society, but the effectiveness of this particular resolution is reduced by a “deus ex machine” plot device involving the Great Ones and their ability to trump just about anyone and everyone.  Even so, the book comes to a satisfying end, setting the stage for Mara’s next victory in the third and final volume.

Rating: 8/10

After years of avoiding this series, I was finally tempted by the completion of the series and my daughter’s sudden desire for “big kid” books.  I also thought it would be wise to wait until the series was over, just in case it wound up being as addictive as I’ve heard!  I’m glad that I did wait until I knew more about the series, particularly that it would get more substantial and explore darker territory, because this first volume is actually a bit disappointing.

Nearly everyone knows the plot from the book or the film (I think I was the last person to read/watch either one), so rehashing that information is unnecessary.  The fact that the film was basically a scene-to-scene translation of the book is not hard to imagine, because the film actually brings more to the table than the prose.

I can see how this would be a good book for younger readers, because while there are some difficult ideas, the story moves so quickly that it can be understood without too much afterthought.  It introduces the world quickly and efficiently, and the tone is appropriate for the age of the characters.  There is a definitive innocence and lightness to the book, which many will find charming, and there’s enough of a hint of darkness to keep things interesting.

But the book itself lacks true depth.  While tons of interesting concepts are introduced, tons of references are tossed out for the sole purpose of adding to the absurdity of it all.  It’s a bit silly, and while that’s what one would expect from a children’s novel, it doesn’t quite equate when taken from an adult point of view (which is why the film works better).

I read this book in the space of about 14 hours, which is not a record but should reflect the rushed and shallow nature of the material.  It doesn’t demand much consideration after the fact.  If the series hadn’t been finished, and if I had no information about the direction of the story, I’m not sure that I would have continued.  Instead, it’s easier to think of this story as a prologue.  It reflects the wonder, innocence, and whimsy inherent to Harry’s perspective at this part of the story.

Rating: 6/10

This is the eleventh book in the classic James Bond series, and the central book of the unofficial Blofeld trilogy.  After a bizarre and disturbing departure in “The Spy Who Loved Me”, Fleming returns to his usual format in a book that recalls the best of the early Bond material.  In fact, there’s an early callback to “Casino Royale” that suggests Fleming had that direction in mind.

This book is also remarkable for presenting a woman that Bond could marry.  The vast majority of the novel shows Bond over his head, dealing with a bioterrorism scheme that would fit into today’s world all too neatly.  Far from the indestructible master spy of the films, Bond is often injured, barely surviving several threats to his life.  This humanizes Bond, especially when he happily chooses to work with an organized crime family to achieve his counter-terrorism ends.

That said, Bond’s choice in love interest is unusual.  Fleming does little to explain why Bond would be so deeply attracted to Tracy.  She begins the book in a suicidal state, and Bond refuses to have anything more to do with her until she gets serious psychological help.  Similarly, Tracy somehow determines, after one night with Bond, that there’s something worth living for.  It happens all too quickly in both cases, ultimately undermining what should be a stunning moment at the end of the book.

Also interesting is the general tone of the book.  Bond is ready to leave the service, frustrated and prepared to resign, and his career appears to be on the wane.  Like “Thunderball”, this is the beginning of the end of the character arc as ultimately created by Fleming, and one begins to wonder if Fleming was allowing his own diminishing health to reflect in the Bond tales.

Rating: 6/10

As the “Legacy of the Force” series begins its resolution phase, there’s still a vague sense of decompression.  It’s not always a bad thing to stretch out a story, allowing it to breathe and take shape slowly, but it’s also not always necessary.  Considering how much of this series has been a retelling of the Prequel trilogy of Star Wars films, the author could and should have continued with the intention of telling the story in more depth and better than Lucas might have dreamed.

Instead, the authors have fallen back on the same unfortunate set of clichés: characters that act to prolong a conflict through inaction simply to keep the story going and adherents of the Dark Side who act like two-dimensional villains with paper-thin motivation.

I continue to be disappointed with the direction taken with Jacen’s character.  The earliest novels, stretching back to Jacen’s experiences with Vergere during the New Jedi Order series, led him down a philosophical path that made a great deal of sense.  It was the closest the Star Wars universe has ever come to making sense of the Sith.  Like Palpatine before him, however, Jacen has descended into a kind of parody.  Could that be the point?

In a way, this feels like a response to our responsibility-averse culture.  It’s far easier to depict a man who makes terrible choices for reasons that could, in an idealized form, be laudable as a raving evil lunatic.  It makes it easier to deny the possibility that we ourselves could fall into the same trap.  To humanize the grand villain, it seems, would make him dangerously sympathetic.

This makes it all the more ironic that Star Wars was so heavily influenced by the Dune sequence.  Terrible things were done in the name of Muad’dib, the grand hero and savior of the Empire, and ultimately he came to understand the tragedy of the Jihad he began.  He saw the visions of the Golden Path of humanity’s salvation and failed to follow it, sacrificing himself in the end to allow his children to repair the damage of his legacy.  Muad’dib never became a caricature; he was instead a deeply tragic figure.

One could have considered the Star Wars Extended Universe similarly.  Anakin Skywalker was a kind of Muad’dib, destined to bring “balance to the Force”.  He failed, but he sacrificed himself to give his children the chance to make things right.  But Luke failed even further (at least thus far).  Was it therefore a consequence that Jacen must reset the process?  Or did Jacen become, as hinted, the next Muad’dib figure?

Logic (and the hero’s journey) would dictate that Jacen must sacrifice himself to end the cycle, leaving the process of restoration to another.  It’s unfortunate that the writers couldn’t figure out a way to make the corruption of power more substantial and less predictable.

Rating: 5/10