The Lesser Joke: book reviews and more

Book Review: Doctor Who: The Day of the Doctor by Steven Moffat

Book #47 of 2021:

Doctor Who: The Day of the Doctor by Steven Moffat

This 2018 novelization of the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special is a whole lot of fun. Although it doesn’t take the opportunity like the similar Russell T. Davies “Rose” adaptation to cheekily sneak in some post-facto canon nods, author Steven Moffat does introduce a few elements — from flashbacks involving classic character Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart to new interludes with the Tenth Doctor and River Song — that further flesh out the storyline and make the adventure even more of a celebration of the franchise history. It’s a really clever rendition of what was a strong episode to begin with, and I love that it includes the short prequel “The Night of the Doctor” as well.

The broader question facing this sort of project is always, who is it for? The Day of the Doctor is a fantastic meetup of multiple incarnations of the time-traveling protagonist and a revisiting of the Time War that looms so large over the rebooted series backstory, and I can’t imagine any version of it working well for an audience unfamiliar with the show. I’m also not sure that any Whovian is seeking out the printed material ahead or instead of the filmed program, so it’s mostly eased of the burden of having to explain things that an entirely original plot would.

But if you approach this title as an excuse to revisit a tale you already know in a slightly changed format, it’s a pretty entertaining affair.

[Content warning for an insensitive joke about being easily triggered. And yes, I’m aware of the irony here.]

★★★★☆

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Book Review: No Time Like the Future: An Optimist Considers Mortality by Michael J. Fox

Book #46 of 2021:

No Time Like the Future: An Optimist Considers Mortality by Michael J. Fox

I think most people probably have a fondness for actor Michael J. Fox, due to lingering affection for the beloved characters he’s played, sympathy for the early-onset Parkinson’s disease that reoriented his career and continues to affect his daily life, and appreciation for the medical research foundation he established with his wealth. But even with all that good will going into this latest memoir… it’s simply not a very exciting read.

As a book, No Time Like the Future is disjointed and clipped, offering a variety of anecdotes that might be interesting at greater length but are seldom given enough space to breathe here. There’s not much of an overall theme linking these reflections, and the author can be a tad exasperating as he name-drops his famous friends and all the cool vacation spots he’s jetsetted to around the world or suggests that the universe wanted him to adopt a dog because he and his wife both happened to notice the same flyer for it. The subtitle is also misleading, although I don’t know whether or not Fox supplied it — he’s not particularly optimistic within these pages, nor is he overly focused on considering death. He’s just sharing a succession of unrelated comments that would likely make for engaging dinner conversation (so long as one could ask follow-up questions) but are not nearly as effective in this written format.

At its best, the title gives us an idea of what it’s like to live with a movement disorder, planning out every physical motion yet still experiencing a disconnect with one’s body, leading to spasms and frequent falls. But it’s lacking the story to properly illuminate either that condition or his broader journey, which substantially weakens the text.

★★☆☆☆

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Book Review: Infinity Blade: Awakening by Brandon Sanderson

Book #45 of 2021:

Infinity Blade: Awakening by Brandon Sanderson

This 2011 media tie-in novella is an odd curiosity, even with author Brandon Sanderson bringing his usual talents to the task. It takes place in-between two mobile games to apparently bridge their stories together, and I imagine it would read better for an audience familiar with either / both. But not everyone is going to approach this title as part of that larger franchise, especially after the apps were removed from the Apple Store in 2018 for compatibility issues with an updated operating system. I myself have never played them, and so I’m not sure how much of the printed work here consists of new versus inherited material.

The plot also begins rather abruptly and ends with a few threads left dangling, which makes sense as a middle chapter of an ongoing series but is less satisfying in a standalone piece. (Sanderson went on to release a second Infinity Blade volume as well, but I gather that that one is intended to set up the third game and does not directly function as a sequel.)

At least it’s an interesting concept, sort of like Castlevania meets Shannara meets the writer’s own Mistborn trilogy. An omnipotent god-king has been temporarily killed by the latest hero of a family who sends a champion to assault his castle every generation, and the worldbuilding reveals that his magic is actually all advanced technology that has fallen out of common understanding over the centuries. Again, I don’t know to what extent that’s original invention or prior canon, but it gets a fun exhibit on the page as the protagonist whom no one expected to win must scramble to decide his next steps and figure out if he’s anything more than a pawn in a contest among immortals.

There’s enough neat touches on display that I wish this were a full novel, and the storytelling is generally competent even if the femme fatale love interest is a bit one-note. But it’s really too truncated to soar in the way I’d usually expect from this source.

[Content warning for diet culture. And disclaimer: I’m Facebook friends with the author.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: The Beauty of What Remains: How Our Greatest Fear Becomes Our Greatest Gift by Steve Leder

Book #44 of 2021:

The Beauty of What Remains: How Our Greatest Fear Becomes Our Greatest Gift by Steve Leder

A powerful meditation on saying goodbye to loved ones who are dead or dying, and learning how to carry on without them. Author Steve Leder is a rabbi who has spent decades counseling his congregants in that position (as well as those facing the end of life themselves), but the title is as much a record of the compassionate wisdom he’s shared with others as it is a personal account of his own experience of grief from losing his father to Alzheimer’s. I’ve gotten a lot out of this text due to our common faith and comfort rituals, but I think even non-Jewish readers will be moved and helped by the lessons herein. Writing during the 2020 coronavirus pandemic, Leder shows great insight into the disruptions of death, the healing strength of memories, and the ways we can find for our dearly departed to live on within us after they’re gone.

★★★★☆

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TV Review: His Dark Materials, season 2

TV #17 of 2021:

His Dark Materials, season 2

A clear improvement over the debut year of this literary fantasy series, in two key areas. First, perhaps simply due to an increased effects budget, we actually see dæmons — the trademark animal soul companions of the franchise — in most shots of anyone from Lyra’s world. They don’t quite exhibit the talkative personalities from the books that would really bring that setting’s unique culture to life, but they’re present and interacting with other characters and the environment as they largely haven’t been before.

More crucially, the adaptation has now reached the second novel, the point where our two main protagonists finally meet on the page. Will isn’t even introduced to readers prior to then, and season one strained under the effort to create meaningful things to occupy his attention (and ours, watching) until Cittàgazze. Here, he and Lyra bounce off one another nicely, and the plot no longer feels as though it’s dragging its feet anytime he’s on the screen.

On the other hand: the show has still not found an organic or interesting way to incorporate either the Magisterium clergy or the witches, each of whom seems to exist primarily to gaze meaningfully around a room and deliver portentous exposition. These dull interludes inevitably drag the action to a screeching halt, and there’s somehow a scene or two like that in every single episode. Side figures such as Mrs. Coulter, Mary Malone, and Lee Scoresby don’t have this same problem and generally manage to be compelling even when their storylines are far from our young heroes, but way too much space in the narrative is taken up by those clunkier elements instead.

We’re also missing Lord Asriel, who gets mentioned a fair bit here but only pops up for a brief cameo at the very end of the finale. Apparently plans for an hour devoted solely to his journeying had to be scrapped due to an early filming shutdown for COVID-19, and it’s hard to judge the version of The Subtle Knife we’ve ended up with against what the writers originally had planned. But as presented, he’s one further piece of the program that’s yet to entirely work.

[Content warning for gun violence.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Snuff by Terry Pratchett

Book #43 of 2021:

Snuff by Terry Pratchett (Discworld #39)

Another fine comic adventure, but not quite up to author Terry Pratchett’s best work, which makes it all the more regrettable that this is where we leave the stalwart Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. The writer finished just one or two further Discworld novels before his death, and based on this title (the latest I’ve read), it does not appear that he was actively planning to conclude the series or resolve any of its loose story and character arcs.

The main problem with this volume is that its conceit of Vimes on holiday is rather aimless. Of course there ends up being some nearby criminal activity that the watchman senses and feels drawn to investigate, but for a good portion of the text, the only real concern is how his urban-honed instincts rub up against the countryside way of life. Both a light Jane Austen homage and the eventual check-in with the protagonist’s subordinates back home seem somewhat perfunctory, not to mention largely disconnected from what becomes his new case.

It’s still a drolly amusing tale for the most part — especially if you like jokes about small children and their interest in feces — and one that manages to treat its heavier topics like discrimination and slavery with the care they deserve. But it lacks the heart and clever plotting that the setting has achieved elsewhere, and is overall a poorer note for the Watch to go out on.

[Content warning for reference to statutory rape.]

★★★☆☆

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Book Review: Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy

Book #42 of 2021:

Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy

I like the idea of setting this story in a near-future dystopia where climate change has led to mass extinctions, but the overall project is a bit of a misfire for me. I’m deeply uninterested in the narrator’s mysterious past, which comes out in dribs and drabs over the course of the novel yet seems built around a few would-be twists that are predictable from page one. Playing coy with the reader thus becomes an exercise in tedium, especially given how much the flashbacks concern our protagonist’s gross romance with her pushy older professor. The action in the present is slightly more engaging as she joins the crew of one of the last fishing vessels to follow the migratory path of a flock to their quarry, but I still just haven’t really enjoyed spending time with this character and all her sordid secrets.

Also: this is petty, but if you’re going to write about ornithologists, perhaps consider recruiting one to proofread your text. I’m not an expert and can’t speak to most of this book’s contents on the matter, but I do know it’s categorically false that mother birds reject any eggs or hatchlings that happen to be touched by people. Having a scientist claim otherwise in the closing denouement robs it of any meager power the tale might have managed to achieve.

[Content warning for mental illness, sexual assault, stillbirth, suicide, and gore.]

★★☆☆☆

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TV Review: The Stand

TV #16 of 2021:

The Stand

There’s a promising start to this recent adaptation of Stephen King’s post-apocalyptic epic, which adopts a bold new nonlinear approach to introduce its main characters both surviving the immediate downfall of society across America and establishing a new settlement in the remains of Boulder. Remixing the narrative in that fashion allows the program to skip past a few slower stretches and establish the larger plot stakes far sooner than in the original text, which instead opts to expand its scope gradually over the course of many chapters.

Unfortunately, the very parts that are dropped turn out to be pretty necessary for fleshing out these protagonists as people, and the show quickly falls into the habit of delivering faithful but empty spectacle with little room for agentive and reflective choices on anyone’s part. It also takes the late-stage Game of Thrones technique of showing a departure and then an arrival, with no patience for the journey in-between that offers so much rich development in the book. King has described The Stand as his version of The Lord of the Rings, and on the page it shares those lengthy passages of travel companions growing closer mile after weary mile. On screen, few if any of the relationships ring with the same depths.

Inherited weaknesses like the magical negro trope go unaddressed as well, a fact which is disappointing for a property with the benefit of four decades of hindsight. The series makes an attempt at better representation around the edges — Larry Underwood is now black; Ralph Brentner is now Ray — but it drastically cuts down the already-slim importance of neurodivergent figures Tom Cullen and the still-poorly-named Trashcan Man, in addition to casting neurotypical performers to play them. Similarly, the deaf and mute Nick Andros is portrayed by an actor who is neither, and often seems like an afterthought to the script. And the enemy setting of New Vegas has been transformed from a fascistic dystopia into a gaudy sex carnival, thereby blunting its power and reinforcing a dated message that queerness is deviant — a moral not to be found in the 1978 source novel!

The cast members generally do a decent job with the material they’re provided, and the early hours bring the horror of a global pandemic to life in a way that would be striking even if we weren’t experiencing a milder one ourselves at the time of release — a coincidence given how far in advance this project was greenlit and filmed, but certainly one that adds further poignance to the scenes of deathbeds and crowded hospitals. Although this is far from the most effective iteration of The Stand overall, such moments go a long way towards reminding viewers why the story has endured.

[Content warning for rape and gore.]

★★☆☆☆

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Book Review: The Mirror of Her Dreams by Stephen R. Donaldson

Book #41 of 2021:

The Mirror of Her Dreams by Stephen R. Donaldson (Mordant’s Need #1)

As with many of author Stephen R. Donaldson’s works, I have some complicated feelings towards the Mordant’s Need duology, and especially this first volume. In terms of worldbuilding and atmosphere, the story is top-notch. The mirror-based magical system is distinctive, and I love how almost all of this novel takes place in a single castle and its immediate environs. As a location Orison lacks the personality of a Gormenghast, but it taps into a similar gloomy claustrophobia as our heroine wanders its drafty halls bouncing off one lonely personage after another. I like how the plot consists mainly of internal court intrigue with occasional bursts of violence as well, although I can see how that creates a slower and more contemplative tale than certain readers might prefer. It’s practically Shakespearean in the king’s feigned madness and power struggles with his daughters, and that’s not the usual mode for this sort of thing.

I also understand the common frustration with Terisa Morgan as a protagonist. Her gradual arc involves learning to assert herself in a variety of ways, but she’s a very passive figure for much of this title, stubbornly refusing the actions that a typical genre hero would perform in her stead. She’s been ground down into such low self-esteem by her past that she finds it impossible to stand up and claim that mantle, and while this can be irritating if you’re expecting a classic sword-and-sorcery venture, it’s a fascinating writing choice that offers a steady share of surprises and a subtle piece of mental health representation.

It forms an important thematic link with the antihero in Donaldson’s more famous Thomas Covenant series too. The self-styled ‘Unbeliever’ is a person pulled out of our world who refuses to accept that the strange new land around him is anything but a dream, even as its inhabitants implore him to be their champion. Here, the writer repeats that paradigm of disputed faith, but he inverts the formula of disbelief. The rules of wizardry in Mordant teach that the visions in mirrors have no true existence before they are called to life, so Terisa herself, summoned to this other place from her familiar high-rise apartment, is the one doubted. Her own status as something real, not the realm’s, is dismissed as an illusion — and at least in the beginning, she doesn’t possess the strength of mind to seriously protest otherwise.

All of that is pretty compelling as a theme to explore, but it does veer into problematic territory at times. Although the heroine needs to be rather submissive for the initial narrative to work, this results in her not resisting when one of her summoners makes open predatory advances on her, first verbally and then physically. She even comes to crave his touch as a way of affirming a small measure of reality, but it’s clearly not genuine consent. This should trouble us, yet the only time that the question of rape is brought up, she somehow laughs in derision to dismiss the idea.

And frankly, it’s not clear that Terisa’s arc requires that type of mistreatment, or the sexism she’s subjected to from a few further directions, in order to be effective. I don’t think Stephen R. Donaldson is insightful enough in how he writes about sexual assault in general to justify how often he’s returned to it throughout his career — and I say that as a dedicated fan who’s read all of his books, most more than once — and the topic is particularly under-developed here. I can’t help but notice that his male characters are never dehumanized to this same degree, either.

Ultimately, then, this is a quietly engaging drama of the soul with a significant flaw running through its heart. On balance I find that combination regrettable but not fatally so, though I can’t fault anyone who weighs these factors differently. Luckily I recall that the sequel improves on this front, in addition to delivering a more straightforward epic fantasy adventure.

[Content warning for body horror.]

★★★★☆

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TV Review: Community, season 1

TV #15 of 2021:

Community, season 1

This is an interesting season to approach on a rewatch, even after so long away. Like many sitcoms, the series takes a while to settle into its rhythms and find its distinctive style, and so a lot of the earlier stuff doesn’t quite feel like the Community that I remember loving. The beginning leans pretty hard on the will-they/won’t they romance between Jeff and Britta, various insensitive bigotries of either Pierce or the school itself — racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia, antisemitism, rape culture, etc. — are frequently brought up for a punchline and then brushed off with a shrug, and Chang might as well be some other character altogether compared to his later self.

The program also doesn’t start out with its eventual best quality, the ability to slip into an entirely new genre for twenty minutes at a time, lovingly sending up that fresh set of tropes yet simultaneously engaging with them honestly and maintaining the writers’ overall comic sensibility. They make it look easy, but I’m sure it’s a phenomenally difficult trick to pull off. The cafeteria mafia adventure Contemporary American Poultry, late in this debut run, is the first true example of that, followed quickly by the post-apocalyptic action thriller Modern Warfare, which remains one of the finest individual offerings of the entire show. These fantastic episodes deservedly form a major blueprint for future years (although we’d ultimately go to the paintball well too often with diminishing returns), and it’s a tiny bit tedious for a repeat viewer to sit through everything until all that clicks into place.

And yet! If you can set aside your expectations or memories for what comes next, this is still a very, very funny piece of television. The Greendale setting offers up all sorts of fun weirdness, the big theme of flawed adults finding second chances is surprisingly heartwarming, and the ensemble humor is simply terrific. I really admire how the central study group can break out into a variety of separate pairings too, and how a main Jeff-Abed plot is radically different from a Shirley-Annie story, an Abed-Troy one, and so on. It helps that these people all have their own particular voices, unlike certain comedies where any joke in the dialogue could conceivably be delivered by any interchangeable mouthpiece. (And a shoutout here to Abed specifically, who already brings an energy unmatched by anyone else on TV, meta-commenting on the events around him and providing welcome neurodiversity representation.)

In the end, this may be a weaker outing for Community, but it’s a relatively strong season by any larger standard.

★★★★☆

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