So did you see A Wrinkle in Time? You should do that, if you haven’t. I’m not going to tell the joke about you going and doing that, because it would take a while, but if you haven’t, consider it something to do. I wanted to write something about the film and the book, since I basically grew up on the latter. In a couple of odd ways, the film is actually better.
Someone I follow on Twitter (whose account is locked, so I won’t quote them or call them by name, I hope that’s OK) was complaining about a recent adaptation. Again, I’ll be vague, but basically they were annoyed that the adaptation didn’t really bring anything new to the table. I think that’s worth thinking about some more, as I basically agree.
So on Tuesday, Ursula K. Le Guin died. Here’s the NYT article about it. If you aren’t familiar with her work, but still read fantasy or science fiction, you’re familiar with her impact. As I told someone yesterday: she may have been 88, but she seemed like she would just always be there. She’d been writing since nearly my lifetime before my life started, if you follow me.
It’s Bram Stoker’s birthday! He was born in 1847 in Dublin Ireland. Did you know he was Irish? Let’s talk some about Bram Stoker. This Victorian Gothic literature degree should come in handy once in a while, right?
I thought I’d write up something a little more practical. What’s more practical than a tarot spread, right? A lot of things, I suppose, but never mind that now. I was fiddling with my cards a few days ago and decided that the Deathly Hallows, from Harry Potter, would make a good set of interlinked images to build a spread on.
It’s not actually a revolutionary idea to suggest Tolkien is a modernist, but it’s still so counter to everything he said and tried to do that it’s worth blogging about. And, anyway, today was the Autumnal Equinox — or the Evenlength, if you like words derived from Middle English (ȝevelengðhe). It’s also Bilbo and Frodo Baggins’s birthday, so I started re-reading The Lord of the Rings. As one does. And I was reminded of the whole modernist thing by his poetry of all things.
I just finished re-reading Moorcock’s Dancers at the End of Time. I may actually prefer the End of Time to the Elric stories, in that they suit my temperament much more. Elric was instrumental in my formative years, so I’ll never not think of those stories as some of my favorites, but — along with my personal preference — everyone talks about Elric. What about Jherek Carnelian?
This is probably my last post of 2015. It seems appropriate. I always meant to get around to writing about my dad dying. 2015 was not a great year. Terry Pratchett died. Christopher Lee died. Satoru Iwata died. My rabbit died. Two of my high school friends died. And my dad died. With the sort of vague, ambient irony the universe is sometimes fond of, it’s also the year I got married. But that’s another post. My dad died two months ago — I’m not here to tell you how I “got over it.” I’m just telling you an idea I encountered in the course of my living with it.