The Lesser Joke: book reviews and more

Book Review: The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story by Nikole Hannah-Jones and The New York Times Magazine

Book #51 of 2022:

The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story by Nikole Hannah-Jones and The New York Times Magazine

This volume is an expansion of the original New York Times Magazine article that was published to honor the 400th anniversary of the arrival of the first enslaved Africans to Virginia, highlighting American history through a lens of anti-Black racism. It’s an important corrective to traditional texts, emphasizing the hostility and institutional roadblocks that African-Americans have continued to face from the white majority long after the era of outright slavery. Author Nikole Hannah-Jones and her collaborators do a great job of drawing concrete connections over time, explaining issues of racial inequality that persist today as the latest reflections of prejudices that literally predate our nation.

The project has ruffled conservative feathers, both for explicitly critiquing contemporary expressions of bigotry and for daring to impugn the character of figures like Thomas Jefferson and Abraham Lincoln who are generally lionized in most historical accounts. In each case, however, the evidence of a particular person’s statements and actions is not really in question. The fundamental dispute seems to be whether it’s fair to emphasize negative elements that had previously been overlooked / dismissed in crafting the popular narratives of history, or whether that sort of approach is inherently divisive and dishonest. But as Howard Zinn would tell us, there is no such thing as a truly neutral historian. Everyone necessarily chooses which details of the past to include and reify, and the result here isn’t revisionist — it’s just an alternate perspective.

Overall, the book is solid and well-researched. I wouldn’t quite put it on the level with Ibram X. Kendi’s Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America or Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness in terms of elaborating deep theoretical insights, and I personally haven’t gotten much out of the poetry and short fiction interludes that bracket the various chapters. But it’s a fine read with a message more people need to hear, and I would especially recommend it as a textbook for younger readers.

[Content warning for racial slurs, rape, and lynching.]

★★★★☆

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Book Review: Redemptor by Jordan Ifueko

Book #50 of 2022:

Redemptor by Jordan Ifueko (Raybearer #2)

2020’s Raybearer remains a strong debut, rich in #ownvoices West African-inspired worldbuilding that still feels distinctively a creation all of author Jordan Ifueko’s own, with flourishes of mild-melding polyamorous coteries a la Sense8 or Octavia Butler’s Patternists. But I actually think this sequel closing out the fantasy duology is even better than the premiere, following the heroine’s ascension to empress with the reasonable question: now what? As we quickly discover, she is horrified and haunted — quite literally — by the victims of her society’s success, and must navigate how to steer the nation in a more gentle direction opposed by the powerful forces who profit off the cruelty of the status quo. That’s a political intrigue that I’ve personally found more engaging than the parental issues dominating the previous volume, and it forms a solid backbone to the remainder of the series plot, culminating in a literal descent into the setting’s underworld to forge a more egalitarian future.

The diversity is also appreciated throughout; in addition to a cast with a variety of brown skin tones, there are multiple queer and disabled characters and frank conversations on consent, asexuality, and the right to have different needs met by different partners without feelings of hurt or shame. These topics are increasingly commonplace in the YA genre, but they’re always worth celebrating and seem particularly well-integrated into the storyline here. If the first book was all about navigating a traumatic childhood, this one thematically explores strategies of entering adulthood with healthier behaviors in place, even when that means setting aside an accustomed privilege or a comfortable lie. I’ve loved accompanying the protagonist on that difficult journey, and I look forward to seeing what her writer dreams up next.

[Content warning for classism, ableism, gore, and murder of children.]

This volume: ★★★★☆

Overall series: ★★★★☆

Volumes ranked: 2 > 1

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Book Review: The Sentence by Louise Erdrich

Book #49 of 2022:

The Sentence by Louise Erdrich

There are fleeting moments in this contemporary novel that work for me, generally involving author Louise Erdrich’s #ownvoices observations of microaggressions towards Native Americans like herself. As a whole, though, it’s a very disjointed effort, especially after the coronavirus pandemic arrives halfway through the volume, followed by the George Floyd protest riots against police brutality. (I wouldn’t say it’s still too early to produce great fiction set in Covid times, but it’s definitely hard to grapple with those real traumas effectively when they’re situated as minor elements within a narrative. Such topics demand treatment at greater length for how they must necessarily derail the shape of any plot they’re otherwise interrupting.)

To the extent there’s a main story here, it concerns a bookstore employee convinced she’s being haunted by the ghost of a dead customer and the title she worries might have killed her. The tone is more magical realism than horror, however — a couple characters may or may not be immortal werewolves — and its interpretation is complicated by the protagonist’s history of hallucinations, although that’s never really addressed in the text. I’ve found her to be a frustrating character altogether aside from the reliable narrator question, from her odd insistence that she doesn’t know her own full name (despite using it on legal forms like her marriage license) to her incessant namedropping of books she’s read and liked, which plays as a weird and unmotivated brag, even for a reader who recognizes most of the references.

I felt similarly lukewarm about this writer’s earlier Future Home of the Living God, so while I understand that her Pulitzer Prize indicates some degree of talent that people are responding to, at this point I think I have to conclude that her style is just not a good match for what I’m looking for in my literature.

[Content warning for desecration of human remains.]

★★☆☆☆

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Book Review: The Rose and the Yew Tree by Mary Westmacott

Book #48 of 2022:

The Rose and the Yew Tree by Mary Westmacott

In this pseudonymous Agatha Christie novel, the author takes careful aim at classism and upward mobility, each of which was in a state of flux following the upheaval of the second World War. Writing in 1948, she paints a tragedy of a man whose self-sabotaging nature won’t let him improve his station, despite a few lucky breaks and his more sober efforts in that direction. Her version of the political thriller as he runs for a seat in Parliament is a British Gatsby in a way, a thematically pointed argument that people’s essence is defined by their birth and they are ultimately powerless to leave their assigned place in society — and doomed to misery if they try.

I don’t agree at all with that thesis, but it’s powerfully explored here, aided by a prickly bunch of characters and numerous allusions to classic works like Othello. The narrator is an interesting creation too; although he primarily exists in the narrative to describe his friend’s folly, his status as a wheelchair-bound invalid stockpiling pain pills for a perpetually-unrealized suicide adds a fascinating further lens of hopeless impotence to the affair. The ‘Mary Westmacott’ stories are rather obscure today compared to the mysteries released under her own name, but this is another indication of how some of the writer’s best work can be found there.

(I think it’s the only time I’ve ever seen her mention someone being Jewish without detecting any antisemitism, too!)

[Content warning for domestic abuse, racism, sexism, ableism, gun violence, and arranged marriage between cousins.]

★★★★☆

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TV Review: The Shield, season 1

TV #14 of 2022:

The Shield, season 1

This is not an easy program to watch, even by the standards of other crime dramas. (Take a glance at the content warnings I’ve listed below, and realize that many of these behaviors are present in the ostensible good guys of the series.) It’s fantastically written, directed, and acted, however, with an approach to its material that is absolutely riveting. In scene after scene, episode by episode, this debut run of The Shield explores its ACAB thesis, holding up an ugly mirror to the thorough abuses of law enforcement, on both a personal and systemic level.

Michael Chiklis gets the most attention as Vic Mackey, the crooked cop who serves as the main antihero, routinely breaking the law not only in his violent apprehension of suspects, but also in his side racket protecting one specific drug dealer for a percentage of the profits. However, the scripts are very clear that our rotten lead is not an aberration. Every other cop who works in his department is to some degree corrupt or complicit themselves — either looking the other way due to the detective’s perceived effectiveness on the streets (though he really just skims the surface and often actively makes things worse) or pushing against his style simply for empty grandstanding politics. Characters like Aceveda or Wagenbach are recognizable as the sort of stock types who would be protagonists in other narratives, but here they’re each too blindsided and compromised by ambition to be effective, especially against Vic. Even idealists who aren’t proven phony still quickly wind up outmatched by his viciously ruthless pragmatism. The moral arc of this particular universe does not bend toward justice.

The tone is heavy, yet suffused with a darkly twisted humor about its subject matter, and it altogether represents a refreshing change from most such programs released before or after. (This one launched in 2002; at one point a civilian filing a complaint about everything going wrong in the world mentions airplanes flying into buildings among her more local grievances.) Most police stories are on some level devices for copaganda, upholding the idea of hero officers as agents for good who can clean up the force around them if necessary. The Shield rejects that notion, and while it adds nuance to its central figure and occasionally pits him against people who are clearly worse, there’s no way for an audience to conscientiously root for the man as he takes bribes, plants evidence, and even kills to keep his secrets safe. It’s as if the universe heard all my regular complaints about Justified — including even the misuse of costar Walton Goggins via inconsistent characterization — and said, “Oh, I’ve already made that show you’re looking for! Try a few years earlier.”

I’d like for the plot to be a bit more serialized, but that improves as this season goes on, and the two-part finale that finds Mackey and his team scrambling to escape their tightest spot yet plays out against a nightmarish but understandable L.A. race riot sparked by the neglect and misconduct of such jaded would-be public servants. And even in its more episodic mode, this is really great stuff, with no straightforward victories for anyone. The police aren’t doing anything to seriously curb crime, and the outlaw life they’re opposing seems more grubby and petty for all parties concerned than actually appealing in any way. The whole effect is compellingly bleak, and decidedly not for every type of viewer. But it’s powerful and decisive in the particular message being sent nonetheless.

[Content warning for domestic abuse, gun violence including the murder of a pregnant woman, gore, racism and homophobia including slurs, transphobia including misgendering and assault, ableism, Islamophobia, antisemitism, drug abuse, pedophilia, rape, sex trafficking, suicide, and torture.]

★★★★★

Book Review: The Last Dark by Stephen R. Donaldson

Book #47 of 2022:

The Last Dark by Stephen R. Donaldson (The Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant #4)

The grand finale to the Thomas Covenant saga moves slower than one might predict, given the apocalyptic atmosphere and scant amount of time remaining for the Land. The sun and stars have all gone out, the Worm of the World’s End is approaching and mindlessly consuming everything in its path, and our (anti)heroes face daunting foes who continue to lash out in pain or in glee to create new immediate perils that must be dealt with first. Yet in that hazardous gloom, there are still lengthy scenes of grandiloquent dialogue, weighted with accusations, defenses, and pleading. It is a Stephen R. Donaldson story, after all.

The moral crux of this series has shifted over these ten volumes, moving past the initial concern of Unbelief over the setting’s reality, but it has stayed a profoundly introspective and deconstructive take on the fantasy genre. Lately, the primary focus has been on the importance of fighting for what’s right even when all hope seems lost — not merely because help and salvation can always arrive unexpectedly, but because the effort itself is a meaningful pursuit entirely apart from its actual success or failure. That’s easier to say than to fully internalize and accept, however, and this novel finds its cast struggling with apathy and despair at the overwhelming odds arrayed against them. Simultaneously, there is a question of how much grace is owed to one’s enemies, from the resentful Elohim to Lord Foul himself, and whether saving someone who wouldn’t return the favor is more wisdom or folly.

Readers who have enjoyed that philosophical aspect thus far will likely appreciate it here (and it’s hard to imagine anyone even reaching this point otherwise), with the added poignance of finality that any great conclusion brings. There are surprising reunions and anxious farewells and incredible last feats of strength and devotion, not to mention the sweet and long-overdue development of Linden starting to call Covenant by his first name. It all builds to a tripartite climax as he faces off against his son channeling the Despiser, she seeks to redeem and unbind the eldritch amalgam She Who Must Not Be Named — a sequence I feel works better than the creature’s introduction in the previous title — and her newfound child Jeremiah undergoes an internal ordeal with his own possessor, the sole surviving Raver.

It’s not a flawless ending. The Insequent are barely mentioned despite playing a fairly large role in the last couple books, and I would have personally liked to see a stronger payoff to the time travel element of this quartet, like bringing any of the Unhomed or some other champions forward from their place in established history to meet the challenges of this later era. I also don’t love how the Worm is effectively neutralized off-screen, turning it into a bit of an afterthought to the emotional crisis involving the more personal adversaries rather than a proper spectacle in its own right. And a good editor probably could have trimmed down the often-superfluous levels of combat and journeying throughout.

Overall, though, this is a fine sendoff to a realm rich in intricate worldbuilding and an assembly of complex characters who will forever mean a lot to me. I’ve adored falling back in and getting to know them all over again via this reread, as well as pushing myself to think critically and articulate why exactly they move me so for these reviews. I thank you for following along with me — for as the people of Mithil Stonedown once said, “In accepting a gift you honor the giver.” I honor Donaldson for sharing these tales with us, and you honor me by reading my thoughts on them.

[Content warning for gore and mention of rape.]

This volume: ★★★★☆

Overall series: ★★★★☆

Volumes ranked: 2 > 4 > 1 > 3

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TV Review: Bob’s Burgers, season 2

TV #13 of 2022:

Bob’s Burgers, season 2

It’s hard to adequately judge a nine-episode run of a half-hour animated comedy, but with the exception of maybe the Goonies-homage premiere I don’t think any of these sophomore installments stands out as a classic of the program, and the writers are clearly still fiddling with the formula to see what works best. Two developments that I appreciate this year: all five members of the Belcher family are now taking turns at being the reasonable one in a given ridiculous scenario — although that’s often a stretch for the younger kids — and the show’s dialogue has begun playing with gender in interesting ways, generally by having Gene claim some aspect of traditional femininity.

It’s admittedly clumsy, and probably could support an argument of transphobia as easily as well-intended queer inclusivity in the writing, but at the finest, those moments play less like punchlines at anyone’s expense and more like genuine celebrations of a space where people can try out different identities and paths to joy. That’s a sign of Bob’s Burgers slowly finding its heart, and it’s sweet when it succeeds.

But for now there’s a whole lot of chaos and shouting, typically at the end of a story that seemingly can’t find any other way to resolve. None of this is bad per se, and much of it is pretty funny! The series continues to flesh out its cast of eccentric supporting characters with folks like Zeke, Tammy, Sergeant Boscoe, and Darryl, all of whom we’ll be seeing again soon, and whose voices further enrich the delirious cacophony of this universe. Eventually that noise is channeled more productively / creatively, but at this point things haven’t quite clicked over from good into great.

[Content warning for gun violence and sexual harassment / assault.]

★★★☆☆

Book Review: The Other by K. A. Applegate

Book #46 of 2022:

The Other by K. A. Applegate (Animorphs #40)

This is one of the more difficult Animorphs volumes to read, I think, because it shines an ugly light on a bigotry in Ax that I don’t believe we’ve seen before. It turns out that our noble alien visitor, along with most of his people, is pretty horribly ableist toward any fellow Andalite missing a full tail blade and unable to morph to heal it. When the team encounters such a ‘vecol’ here, being held captive by the Yeerks as bait, he reacts with disgust, disdain, and bafflement at the idea that any able-bodied being would be willing to risk their own life in a rescue attempt.

To be clear: the narrative does not endorse this view! Ghostwriter Gina Cascone makes sure to show Marco and the other Animorphs pushing back against their ally repeatedly throughout the book, snapping at him over his comments and insisting that they save the prisoner despite his objections. It’s fairly strong language, in fact, especially since Aximili himself seems so casual in his dismissal. He just plainly doesn’t see Mertil as a person deserving of any equal rights or dignity, and even when his closest friend Tobias angrily points out how the heroes are all ‘freaks’ in a way, the best he can muster as a would-be apology to the wounded soldier is an insulting, <I will always remember you as you were.> It’s an uncomfortable and challenging attitude to find in a protagonist we’re regularly meant to identify with and admire, with no real indication of any new growth or understanding by the end.

The other notable element in this novel is Mertil’s relationship with Gafinilan, a second warrior of his species stranded on earth after their fighter ships crashed. On a surface reading of the text — the only one I recall picking up on as a child in 2000 — the two veterans are simply very dear comrades. They are described as lifelong ‘shorms’ like Ax and Tobias, a detail explaining why Gafinilan is able to look past his culture’s prejudices when the young cadet cannot. In the subtext, of course, that homosocial dynamic is also romantic — an interpretation subsequently confirmed by author K. A. Applegate’s spouse and co-writer Michael Grant. As an adult reader 22 years later, even Gafinilan’s hidden existence as a morphed human in suburbia, keeping his true self and his companion a secret, strikes me as a coded treatment of closeted queerness. And the debilitating illness attacking his DNA, destined to leave Mertil alone in the world once he succumbs, seems likewise intended as an AIDS allegory. (I’d love to hear if these elements were ever supposed to be more explicit, and whether Scholastic exercised editorial control to minimize them.)

Plotwise, this is another story that doesn’t do much to alter the larger status quo. The new Andalites get name-dropped a few times following this, but they don’t show up again, and none of the Animorphs appear to be changed by meeting them. The episode is somewhat awkwardly placed in the series, too, coming a mere two books after the last time Ax was surprised by members of his race, and well past the space battle from the very beginning of the franchise that apparently marooned these newcomers. It’s not necessarily implausible to suggest they’ve been hiding out this whole time, but I feel like this installment might have been more powerful earlier on. I’m furthermore not convinced Marco is the ideal choice of narrator for these events, for although he breaks Jake’s commands in order to sneak off and privately investigate Gafinilan, there’s little here that reads as quintessentially benefiting from his particular perspective. It’s overall a filler entry — solid and a bit unsettling in Ax’s opinions about disability, but not really moving anything forward in the final analysis. Visser Three is actually absent for the entirety, with his minions making some odd strategic decisions without him, as if he too realizes that this is unlikely to be a highlight.

[Content warning for body horror and gore.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: My Heart Is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

Book #45 of 2022:

My Heart Is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones (The Lake Witch Trilogy #1)

On a basic plot level, this is the story of a half-Indian teen trying to convince everyone in her small town that they’re soon to be caught up in the events of a slasher-style massacre, identifying patterns that only she, a huge fan of that film genre, seems to recognize. More accurately, however, it’s a character study of the disturbed protagonist herself, with the eventual reveal of significant trauma in her backstory serving to illuminate her fixation. While she scouts out potential attack sites, steals police files, and especially crafts rambling warnings to the popular classmate she’s concluded will be the likely Final Girl of the upcoming incident, readers are getting a thorough look at her damaged psyche and wondering how reliable of a narrator she actually is.

And that’s great, to a point. But it feels weakened when — spoiler alert — Jade is proven right, and the bodies start dropping just as she predicted. (And no, she’s not the killer, a twist that I was more than half-expecting as I went along.) The last third of the text plays out as a straightforward slasher movie itself, a competent yet somewhat disappointing finale, particularly after the late addition of a supernatural element as well. For most of the tale, the heroine occupies a wholly different world from everybody else, and although the confirmation of her reality carries some thematic subtext about believing survivors, the transition from a narrative in which she reads as deluded to one in which she’s obviously correct comes off as jarring and a bit unearned.

If you love Freddy/Jason/Ghostface/etc. features — and can wait patiently for the action to finally arrive — I imagine you’ll enjoy this book! It’s probably the version that horror author Stephen Graham Jones was always going to write, given his equally gory The Only Good Indians, and his affection for those titles is plain in the extensive references that are name-dropped throughout. Yet there’s a tension that goes out when the two possible accounts collapse into one, and I think I would have preferred a novel that maintained either its ambiguity or its grip on a rational universe the whole way through.

[Content warning for racism, domestic abuse, incest, pedophilia, hidden-camera voyeurism, rape, suicide, post-traumatic stress disorder, and gore.]

★★★☆☆

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TV Review: Scandal, season 5

TV #12 of 2022:

Scandal, season 5

This political melodrama remains ridiculous, verging on outright self-parody, but this season is at least a minor course-correction to the spy nonsense that was dragging it down in previous years. Rowan is frustratingly still around as a master manipulator, but his B613 organization has stayed dismantled, and for the most part, the series is focused on other matters. For the first half of this run, that’s Olivia’s affair with the president finally being made public, which is a shakeup that offers an interesting new key to certain long-standing dynamics. The transition into the second part, involving the candidates to succeed Fitz in the White House, could have been smoother, but as with The West Wing, that election storyline injects some renewed energy and novel plot beats into an aging series as well.

I’ve never been particularly invested in anyone’s fate on this program, and my complaint that the relationships and individual characterizations are built on sand is as relevant as ever. People betray their friends and join their worst enemies with barely a shrug, and the actors have variable success at selling each successive upset to the audience. Tom is helping and dating Cyrus now? Sure, why not. Jake is either a ruthless killer or a helpless captive to his father figure — who grossly calls him Olivia’s brother, despite their sexual history together — depending on the current needs of the writers. Meanwhile, she beats a disabled man to death with a metal chair and is sad for a few episodes before going back to business as usual. In any reasonable story, the protagonist crossing that line should be a major event with dire ramifications, but on Scandal, you can pretty much guarantee that it won’t be.

The biggest thing that doesn’t work for me here is Hollis Doyle, the Trump caricature who’s clearly been brought back simply because, in 2015-2016 when this aired, his real-life inspiration was making some headlines of his own. Shonda Rhimes hardly even fictionalizes the absurd xenophobia in his platform, and I honestly don’t know how that would have landed for me if I had watched it at the time. But with hindsight, the comedy feels a bit reprehensible, and the fact that his campaign ends after a tape leaks of him admitting his racism is a pose plays out like an especially sick joke.

I doubt I will ever love this show, but it’s compulsively watchable enough to stick with it for the remaining two shortened seasons and see what sort of kooky conclusion could possibly wrap all this up. And for all my griping, I have to admit that this is probably its strongest outing yet, with the clearest stakes and narrative throughlines. Maybe, just maybe, even brighter days are ahead under the next administration.

[Content warning for gun violence, gore, stalking, pedophilia, rape, and incest.]

★★★☆☆