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“Where is Rowan Morrison?”

June 29, 2010 in Film/TV by Emera | 5 comments

In which Christopher Lee is amazing

I’ve always wanted to see the 1973 drama/thriller/sorta-horror classic The Wicker Man, and it ended up being a rollickingly fun watch for last week’s summer solstice.

In the film, straight-laced Sergeant Howie is dispatched to investigate the disappearance of a young girl named Rowan Morrison on Summer Isle, a remote Scottish island, only to find that not only does every villager on the island deny any knowledge of Rowan Morrison, but that his visit coincides with the island’s highly enthusiastic and – to the devoutly Christian Howie – unwholesome May Day preparations. Cue an increasingly frenzied search by the valiant but humorless Howie, a collision of equally blind faiths, and more references to to Celtic folklore and fertility symbolism than you can shake a Maypole at. There’s an inn named the Green Man; a sweet shop stocked with pastries and chocolates in the shape of women, leaping hares, and what look like rams’ heads; lots of nubile gamboling in graveyards and stone circles; a lush estate encircled by phallic topiaries… Oh, and Christopher Lee as the island’s erudite neo-pagan lord, who enjoys nothing so much as wearing a kilt and soliloquizing about the joys of the animal world while intercut with footage of glistening snails intertwining and set over a soundtrack of hypnotically pulsating drums and recorder.

Christopher Lee, plus kilt

No, I didn’t have too much fun watching this movie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

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The Secret Supper, by Javier Sierra (2004) K

March 11, 2010 in Book, Novels by kakaner | No comments

TEMPORARY NOTICE: Today is the last day for the signed book giveaway!!!

Date Read: 1.16.07

Book From: Boston Public Library

Reviewer: Kakaner

I happened across this book during one of my genre frenzies (this particular one being religious fiction), and after being bombarded with recommendations for this book in every genre search I conducted, I decided to read it. The story is about Father Agostino who is sent by the church inquisition to investigate Leonardo Da Vinci’s current painting, The Last Supper, and to find proof to convict Da Vinci as a heretic. Cue Christian religion conspiracy subplots.

As I am sure you can tell from the gist of my setup, this was like The Da Vinci Code in 300 pages, of which you may have already discovered Emera and I are entirely not fans. Admittedly, it wasn’t as excessively dramatic as The Da Vinci Code — now that would be an amazing feat– but it was an intensely painful read. Above all, it was *boring*, one of those books where you stop every 20 pages to look at the cover or read the blurb again to get a sense of what you’re holding out for. The main character was completely devoid of personality, although the supporting characters were slightly more developed. There was a crapload of anagramming and cryptogramming that required huge reaches of the imagination to seem plausible. Not only was the plot weak, but each 3-page chapter was also a subplot that didn’t really lend any meat to the overarching story, therefore rendering the quality of storytelling nil. Overall, I’d say this experience was a frustrating waste of time.

I’m curious as to whether this novel was influenced directly by The Da Vinci Code/Angels & Demons. After all, both garnered international fame and were published before The Secret Supper. However, it seems that Sierra has been publishing historical intrigue for many years and perhaps it’s just bad luck that he chose Da Vinci at this time and that I’ve been holding him up to Dan Brown.

Interestingly, The Secret Supper won the Premio de Novela Ciudad de Torrevieja award, a Spanish literary prize which is awarded to a promising unpublished novel and the third highest monetary literary prize in the world. Whew. I’d venture a guess and say Sierra’s writing is probably stronger in his native language, and the translation may have messed with the word games, but I doubt it would still be able to make up for all the plot and story faults.

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Javier Sierra

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I, Lucifer, by Glen Duncan (2002) E

January 8, 2010 in Book, Novels by Emera | No comments

Date read: 2.15.09
Book from: University library
Reviewer: Emera

Glen Duncan - I, LuciferToo lazy to summarize, so, back-of-the-book summary: “The Prince of Darkness has been given one last shot at redemption, provided he can live out a reasonably blameless life on earth. Highly skeptical, naturally, the Old Dealmaker negotiates a trial period – a summer holiday in a human body, with all the delights of the flesh. The body, however, turns out to be that of Declan Gunn, a depressed writer interrupted in his bath mid-suicide. Ever the opportunist, and with his main scheme bubbling in the background, Luce takes the chance to tap out a few thoughts – to straighten the Biblical record, to celebrate his favourite achievements, to let us know just what it’s like being him.”

Daniel Craig is going to play Lucifer in a movie version of this soon, so I decided that I’d try it out, especially since a friend had mentioned liking the book about when it first came out. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make myself get through it, and decided after about 50 pages that it was a waste of time, making it a rare aborted reading attempt.

I found Duncan’s voice – or Lucifer’s, I can’t tell the difference between the two – both preposterous and obnoxious. I’ve read many an unsympathetic narrator with much sympathy before, but this was just tiresome. The problem is not so much that the content is vulgar, as it is that the writing is even more so. Duncan practically herniates himself trying to show just how flippant, blasphemous, self-absorbed, grossly sexual, etc. etc. Lucifer is, to the extent that the whole thing backfires on him and robs this Lucifer of any potential sympathy that we might be inclined to accord him in his lighter moments. We’re meant to feel a sympathetic sensuality, even joy, when, for example, Lucifer takes his first physical breath of air in a scented garden, but Lucifer’s personality is so absurdly overblown and overwritten that he obviates anything else that might try to share the same page as him, whether it be gardens, sensual pleasure, or a reader just trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

This is a sloppy, smirking, adolescent mess. If you like listening to irredeemably obnoxious individuals grandstand and talk about themselves, go for it.

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Glen Duncan

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