To continue a "tradition" that I started last year, here's my list of the books I read in 2012. Note that my Goodreads page has a fairly complete (though by no means exhaustive) list of everything I've read, past and present, for what it's worth.
The Night Eternal (Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan)
Luna Marine (Ian Douglas)
Europa Strike (Ian Douglas)
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (J. K. Rowling)
Star Corps (Ian Douglas)
Battlespace (Ian Douglas)
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (J. K. Rowling)
Stranger in a Strange Land (Heinlein)
Star Marines (Ian Douglas)
Infinite Insights into Kenpo, Vol II (Ed Parker)
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (J. K. Rowling)
11/22/63: A Novel (Stephen King)
Infinite Insights into Kenpo, Vol III (Ed Parker)
Inheritance (Christopher Paolini)
The Wind Through the Keyhole (Stephen King)
Dreadnaught (John G. Hemry writing as Jack Campbell)
In Fury Born (David Weber)
The Eye of the World (Robert Jordan)
The Great Hunt (Robert Jordan)
The Dragon Reborn (Robert Jordan)
The Hobbit (J. R. R. Tolkien)
Hatchet (Gary Paulsen)
The Shadow Rising (Robert Jordan)
The Fires of Heaven (Robert Jordan)
The Clockwork Three (Matthew J. Kirby)
The Lord of Chaos (Robert Jordan)
A Crown of Swords (Robert Jordan)
A Path of Daggers (Robert Jordan)
Winter's Heart (Robert Jordan)
Crossroads of Twilight (Robert Jordan)
Knife of Dreams (Robert Jordan)
Horns & Wrinkles (Joseph Helgerson)
The Gathering Storm (Robert Jordan)
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Book Analysis: Ed Parker's Kenpo Karate Part II
Yesterday I introduced the first work of American Kenpo Grandmaster Ed Parker: Kenpo Karate, the Law of the Fist and the Empty Hand. The book is divided into two courses. Course 1 covers basics from the wearing of the uniform to exercises and conditioning to basic strikes with hands and feet. Course 2 is an in-depth examination of specific responses to a wide range of attack scenarios.
Grandmaster Parker begins with a look at the theory about speed, power, accuracy, and distance. Parker writes about how all work together to make an effective strike, and that lacking certain ones - particularly distance, can make even the best attack fail.
Beyond that, the remainder of the book is a series of self-defense techniques. I found these very interesting both for what was and was not there. Let me digress for a moment.
As best as I can ascertain, the style of Kenpo I'm currently learning follows a lineage as so:
1. Grandmaster Parker trained Al Tracy and his brothers throughout the 1960s.
2. Al Tracy trained Lee Thompson, who opened a "Tracy Kenpo" school in Liverpool, NY.
3. That school was eventually transferred to Steve LaVallee, who would change the name to Steve LaVallee's Sport Karate and later to LaVallee's East Coast Karate and LaVallee's USA Black Belt Champions.
4. LaVallee operated the school along with Rick Iannuzzo, who I've been told was primarily responsible for curriculum content and direct instruction. Eventually (in the early 1990s, I think) Iannuzzo would open his own school, and LaVallee went on to open more than a dozen facilities in Upstate NY and Florida.
5. In 2010, FiveStar Martial Arts opens in North Syracuse, NY, under the instruction of Paul Napoli and Curtis Pastore. Both studied in the 1990s under Steve LaVallee and Rick Iannuzzo, then trained independently while pursuing their education.
You'll note that I'm not citing sources for this information. That's a topic for another article - it hasn't been easy to track down and the sources I've found haven't been easy to authenticate and verify with what I'd consider to be a high degree of journalistic or academic accuracy. My gut tells me that this is in the ballpark, however, which will have to be good enough for now.
Sometime after the departure of Napoli and Pastore from LaVallees around 2000, LaVallee's moved, at least in spirit, completely away from their Kenpo roots and adopted a Mixed (or blended, depending on who you ask) Martial Arts curriculum that also included some heavily-modified Kenpo kata and self-defense techniques. But what Napoli and Pastore teach is, at least ostensibly, Kenpo.
It's just not the same Kenpo you'd see at a modern Tracy-style or Parker-style karate dojo, however. At least, not from the evidence I've found online. And it's the changes, the metamorphosis of the style and the techniques over the years, that fascinate me. Who decided to do a certain technique this way rather than that other way? Who decided to change a particular kata to eliminate certain moves and modify others to the point where it's only superficially similar to its original form? And, most importantly, why were those changes made? Were they deliberate efforts to water down a challenging curriculum to make it more accessible to younger students? Or were they carefully-considered decisions about body mechanics, force, and the need to develop certain skills? Or some combination of both? Or something else completely?
This information is particularly difficult to pin down, because even the originators of the style - Parker and the Tracy brothers - made their own modifications over the years, both before and after they trained together as well as before and after they taught people like Lee Thompson. So the differences I'm seeing between modern-day Parker Kenpo and modern-day FiveStar Kenpo could have been introduced by any of at least six different people (Parker, Tracy, Thompson, LaVallee, Iannuzzo and/or Napoli/Pastore (who for the purposes of this exercise count as one entity)) at any point in the last thirty to forty years.
For instance, who decided that the makiwara (or the striking board) and the buckets of flour used to condition the fingertips were no longer necessary? You won't find either at the FiveStar dojo, nor did I ever see them at LaVallee's. Did Parker himself move away from them? Did the Tracys decide they preferred more modern equipment? Thompson? LaVallee? Iannuzzo? I have no idea, but they're definitely there in Parker's first book and they're entirely missing from the dojos I've trained at in 2010 and 2011. The Okinawan "Hojo Undo" training equipment and techniques didn't just disappear from Kenpo, either - they tend to be largely absent from nearly all western martial arts dojos.
At some point, both the Parker and Tracy styles of Kenpo developed a complex series of named techniques, using fanciful terms for everything from a left-handed attack to a ridgehand (or sword-hand) strike to a grab of the hair. You'd end up with technique names including (and these are actual Parker Kenpo techniques) delayed sword, mace of aggression, and captured twigs. These technique names, at least, are entirely missing from LaVallee and FiveStar kenpo. Why? Were they invented after Thompson finished his training under Tracy (I'm almost certain they were not), or did LaVallee or Iannuzzo decide to change them? I suspect the techniques - most of them, anyway - are still around in some form or another, but the colorful names have been simplified to "two-handed wrist grab" instead of "captured twigs." Again, who decided that and why?
So to bring that lengthy digression back around, one of the things I looked for in Parker's first book were similarities and differences between the defense techniques he presented and the ones I'm learning now. What's interesting is that I saw both.
For example, the two-handed wrist grab (which in this early book is called simply that - nothing colorful or fanciful) is actually very similar to how I've been taught it at FiveStar (and quite different from the same technique as it was taught to me at LaVallee's). Likewise, the cross-hand wrist grab is extremely similar to how I've been taught it at FiveStar, though a bit more detailed. It's also very much in line with a technique used in the Short 3 kata as I've been taught it at FiveStar.
There's a defense technique against a side-shoulder grab that's entirely different than the one I've learned at FiveStar. Nothing too surprising about that, as the bulk of the techniques from Parker's book are more different than similar. But what's fascinating to me is that the technique shown in the book is completely in line with yet another movement in the Short 3 kata. So while it's different in one portion of the curriculum, it's the same somewhere else. Furthermore, Sensei Napoli explained that the more advanced version of that side-shoulder-grab defense is actually very much like what's shown in the book, I'm just not far enough along in my training to have seen it yet.
Other than those techniques, the other dozen or so are all completely different than what I'd seen at either of the two dojos I've trained at. Could it be that there will be more similarities at more senior ranks? Or could it be that, like the colorful names, but techniques themselves have changed over the years as different instructors each put their own spin on them? Heck, it isn't as if there's only one way to defend against these attacks. I have to constantly resist the habits I developed studying Aikido, which also had very effective defenses against these sorts of assaults.
Overall, I found Parker's book a fascinating window into the origins of this most American (or Americanized, if you will) of martial arts styles. I found that much of what Parker espoused, from breathing to conditioning to specific strikes, was covered in much greater depth and detail than I've seen in my training. Again, that could be because I still have much to learn, or it may simply be that some of Parker's original message and philosophy wasn't carried on through the entire forty year journey to today's practice of the style he practiced. As I continue my own training, I'll be looking for more hints of Parker's influence (or lack thereof) and seeking a greater understanding of the skills I'm being taught, as well as the changes introduced over the years that affected how those specific skills are practiced today. But I certainly would recommend Parker's book to anyone who wants a first-hand look at the origins of Kenpo Karate in America.
Grandmaster Parker begins with a look at the theory about speed, power, accuracy, and distance. Parker writes about how all work together to make an effective strike, and that lacking certain ones - particularly distance, can make even the best attack fail.
Beyond that, the remainder of the book is a series of self-defense techniques. I found these very interesting both for what was and was not there. Let me digress for a moment.
As best as I can ascertain, the style of Kenpo I'm currently learning follows a lineage as so:
1. Grandmaster Parker trained Al Tracy and his brothers throughout the 1960s.
2. Al Tracy trained Lee Thompson, who opened a "Tracy Kenpo" school in Liverpool, NY.
3. That school was eventually transferred to Steve LaVallee, who would change the name to Steve LaVallee's Sport Karate and later to LaVallee's East Coast Karate and LaVallee's USA Black Belt Champions.
4. LaVallee operated the school along with Rick Iannuzzo, who I've been told was primarily responsible for curriculum content and direct instruction. Eventually (in the early 1990s, I think) Iannuzzo would open his own school, and LaVallee went on to open more than a dozen facilities in Upstate NY and Florida.
5. In 2010, FiveStar Martial Arts opens in North Syracuse, NY, under the instruction of Paul Napoli and Curtis Pastore. Both studied in the 1990s under Steve LaVallee and Rick Iannuzzo, then trained independently while pursuing their education.
You'll note that I'm not citing sources for this information. That's a topic for another article - it hasn't been easy to track down and the sources I've found haven't been easy to authenticate and verify with what I'd consider to be a high degree of journalistic or academic accuracy. My gut tells me that this is in the ballpark, however, which will have to be good enough for now.
Sometime after the departure of Napoli and Pastore from LaVallees around 2000, LaVallee's moved, at least in spirit, completely away from their Kenpo roots and adopted a Mixed (or blended, depending on who you ask) Martial Arts curriculum that also included some heavily-modified Kenpo kata and self-defense techniques. But what Napoli and Pastore teach is, at least ostensibly, Kenpo.
It's just not the same Kenpo you'd see at a modern Tracy-style or Parker-style karate dojo, however. At least, not from the evidence I've found online. And it's the changes, the metamorphosis of the style and the techniques over the years, that fascinate me. Who decided to do a certain technique this way rather than that other way? Who decided to change a particular kata to eliminate certain moves and modify others to the point where it's only superficially similar to its original form? And, most importantly, why were those changes made? Were they deliberate efforts to water down a challenging curriculum to make it more accessible to younger students? Or were they carefully-considered decisions about body mechanics, force, and the need to develop certain skills? Or some combination of both? Or something else completely?
This information is particularly difficult to pin down, because even the originators of the style - Parker and the Tracy brothers - made their own modifications over the years, both before and after they trained together as well as before and after they taught people like Lee Thompson. So the differences I'm seeing between modern-day Parker Kenpo and modern-day FiveStar Kenpo could have been introduced by any of at least six different people (Parker, Tracy, Thompson, LaVallee, Iannuzzo and/or Napoli/Pastore (who for the purposes of this exercise count as one entity)) at any point in the last thirty to forty years.
For instance, who decided that the makiwara (or the striking board) and the buckets of flour used to condition the fingertips were no longer necessary? You won't find either at the FiveStar dojo, nor did I ever see them at LaVallee's. Did Parker himself move away from them? Did the Tracys decide they preferred more modern equipment? Thompson? LaVallee? Iannuzzo? I have no idea, but they're definitely there in Parker's first book and they're entirely missing from the dojos I've trained at in 2010 and 2011. The Okinawan "Hojo Undo" training equipment and techniques didn't just disappear from Kenpo, either - they tend to be largely absent from nearly all western martial arts dojos.
At some point, both the Parker and Tracy styles of Kenpo developed a complex series of named techniques, using fanciful terms for everything from a left-handed attack to a ridgehand (or sword-hand) strike to a grab of the hair. You'd end up with technique names including (and these are actual Parker Kenpo techniques) delayed sword, mace of aggression, and captured twigs. These technique names, at least, are entirely missing from LaVallee and FiveStar kenpo. Why? Were they invented after Thompson finished his training under Tracy (I'm almost certain they were not), or did LaVallee or Iannuzzo decide to change them? I suspect the techniques - most of them, anyway - are still around in some form or another, but the colorful names have been simplified to "two-handed wrist grab" instead of "captured twigs." Again, who decided that and why?
So to bring that lengthy digression back around, one of the things I looked for in Parker's first book were similarities and differences between the defense techniques he presented and the ones I'm learning now. What's interesting is that I saw both.
For example, the two-handed wrist grab (which in this early book is called simply that - nothing colorful or fanciful) is actually very similar to how I've been taught it at FiveStar (and quite different from the same technique as it was taught to me at LaVallee's). Likewise, the cross-hand wrist grab is extremely similar to how I've been taught it at FiveStar, though a bit more detailed. It's also very much in line with a technique used in the Short 3 kata as I've been taught it at FiveStar.
There's a defense technique against a side-shoulder grab that's entirely different than the one I've learned at FiveStar. Nothing too surprising about that, as the bulk of the techniques from Parker's book are more different than similar. But what's fascinating to me is that the technique shown in the book is completely in line with yet another movement in the Short 3 kata. So while it's different in one portion of the curriculum, it's the same somewhere else. Furthermore, Sensei Napoli explained that the more advanced version of that side-shoulder-grab defense is actually very much like what's shown in the book, I'm just not far enough along in my training to have seen it yet.
Other than those techniques, the other dozen or so are all completely different than what I'd seen at either of the two dojos I've trained at. Could it be that there will be more similarities at more senior ranks? Or could it be that, like the colorful names, but techniques themselves have changed over the years as different instructors each put their own spin on them? Heck, it isn't as if there's only one way to defend against these attacks. I have to constantly resist the habits I developed studying Aikido, which also had very effective defenses against these sorts of assaults.
Overall, I found Parker's book a fascinating window into the origins of this most American (or Americanized, if you will) of martial arts styles. I found that much of what Parker espoused, from breathing to conditioning to specific strikes, was covered in much greater depth and detail than I've seen in my training. Again, that could be because I still have much to learn, or it may simply be that some of Parker's original message and philosophy wasn't carried on through the entire forty year journey to today's practice of the style he practiced. As I continue my own training, I'll be looking for more hints of Parker's influence (or lack thereof) and seeking a greater understanding of the skills I'm being taught, as well as the changes introduced over the years that affected how those specific skills are practiced today. But I certainly would recommend Parker's book to anyone who wants a first-hand look at the origins of Kenpo Karate in America.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Book Analysis: Ed Parker's Kenpo Karate
The Law of the Fist and the Empty Hand
This was the first of many books that Kenpo Grandmaster Ed Parker wrote on the subject of karate. It's written as an introduction to the history and specific techniques of the style he popularized, and forms the foundation for the style he would create and refine throughout his life.The book itself is split into two main sections - a beginner's course and an intermediate course. They were very different and each warrant their own analysis.
Course 1:
After the introduction, where Parker shares some of the history of the style and some basic precepts, he covers in extraordinary detail one item that is surprising both in the amount of space he dedicates to it and the extent to which it seems to have been largely lost by modern western martial artists (and, as far as I can tell, Asian ones as well). That item: the proper folding of the dogi karate uniform. Given that the uniform was not generally familiar to a western readership back in the 1960s, it's not surprising that he would cover how to wear and tie both the dogi and the obi, or belt. But he spends a surprising amount of time in both words and pictures detailing how to fold the dogi trousers and jacket, ultimately folding them inside each other and wrapping the entire package in the obi (belt). It's a fascinating insight into what Parker was taught and considered important at that time, and how much things have changed in the U.S. martial arts since.
Another interesting section focuses on breathing. Parker goes into considerable depth about inhalation, exhalation, and the effect of breathing on the power of your attack and defense. It was information I had learned back when I was first training in Tae Kwon Do, and again while training in Aikido, but interestingly it wasn't really something I heard in nearly as much depth while training in Kenpo. Which may have been coincidence that I just missed those particular lectures or perhaps I wasn't paying good enough attention, but Parker certainly was. I thought it was an excellent section that did a really good job of underscoring the effect that breathing has on physical activity, especially hand-to-hand combat.
The section after went into quite a bit of depth about training and conditioning equipment. Without using the Japanese terminology, Parker writes at length about the Makiwara striking board, including very specific directions about how to build one. He also discusses a wide array of other calisthenics, stretches, and methods for conditioning the hands, limbs and feet. These tools and techniques - called Hojo Undo by the Okinawans - have never seemed to be popular or well-known in the western practice of karate, so I found it fascinating that Parker was not only intimately familiar with them, but actually included them in his book.
Another topic that Parker investigated in detail in his book was human anatomy. He includes detailed anatomy charts that actually highlight those areas most likely to cause death. He discusses the anatomy of the martial artist's body weapons - punches, kicks, and other strikes - as well as opponent targets.
Out of all of that, however, the most fascinating thing about Course 1, for me, was that all of the movements that I've always seen taught as blocks (with one exception, below) are in this book clearly taught as strikes. This includes all four of the primary "blocks" typically taught in the west - the inward and outward block, the upward block and the downward block. In Parker's novel, these are all strikes. I learned them as blocks in Tae Kwon Do. I learned them as blocks in both forms of Kenpo and Kenpo-derived MMA I've been studying for the last year. My wife learned them as blocks in the style of Goju-Ryu karate she trained in for many years. In fact, the only time I'd ever considered that they could be strikes was when I was training at Syracuse Jundokan under David Oddy. Clearly the karate that Parker learned in the 1950s and wrote about in his book is closer to traditional Okinawan karate than what's been taught in my neck of the woods over the last twenty years or more. Amazing!
Now, to be fair, the book goes on to explain how those same strikes can be used as blocks, but it's clearly not their primary function. They're actually closer to the atemi I learned in Aikido - painful, distracting blows to the nerve centers that punish an immobilize an attacker - than simple blocks meant to ward off an opponent's attack.
So to summarize course 1 - wow, how things have changed over the last fifty years. The karate Parker learned and wrote about in his book barely resembles what I've seen and been taught over the years. Tomorrow - course 2!
This was the first of many books that Kenpo Grandmaster Ed Parker wrote on the subject of karate. It's written as an introduction to the history and specific techniques of the style he popularized, and forms the foundation for the style he would create and refine throughout his life.The book itself is split into two main sections - a beginner's course and an intermediate course. They were very different and each warrant their own analysis.
Course 1:
After the introduction, where Parker shares some of the history of the style and some basic precepts, he covers in extraordinary detail one item that is surprising both in the amount of space he dedicates to it and the extent to which it seems to have been largely lost by modern western martial artists (and, as far as I can tell, Asian ones as well). That item: the proper folding of the dogi karate uniform. Given that the uniform was not generally familiar to a western readership back in the 1960s, it's not surprising that he would cover how to wear and tie both the dogi and the obi, or belt. But he spends a surprising amount of time in both words and pictures detailing how to fold the dogi trousers and jacket, ultimately folding them inside each other and wrapping the entire package in the obi (belt). It's a fascinating insight into what Parker was taught and considered important at that time, and how much things have changed in the U.S. martial arts since.
Another interesting section focuses on breathing. Parker goes into considerable depth about inhalation, exhalation, and the effect of breathing on the power of your attack and defense. It was information I had learned back when I was first training in Tae Kwon Do, and again while training in Aikido, but interestingly it wasn't really something I heard in nearly as much depth while training in Kenpo. Which may have been coincidence that I just missed those particular lectures or perhaps I wasn't paying good enough attention, but Parker certainly was. I thought it was an excellent section that did a really good job of underscoring the effect that breathing has on physical activity, especially hand-to-hand combat.
The section after went into quite a bit of depth about training and conditioning equipment. Without using the Japanese terminology, Parker writes at length about the Makiwara striking board, including very specific directions about how to build one. He also discusses a wide array of other calisthenics, stretches, and methods for conditioning the hands, limbs and feet. These tools and techniques - called Hojo Undo by the Okinawans - have never seemed to be popular or well-known in the western practice of karate, so I found it fascinating that Parker was not only intimately familiar with them, but actually included them in his book.
Another topic that Parker investigated in detail in his book was human anatomy. He includes detailed anatomy charts that actually highlight those areas most likely to cause death. He discusses the anatomy of the martial artist's body weapons - punches, kicks, and other strikes - as well as opponent targets.
Out of all of that, however, the most fascinating thing about Course 1, for me, was that all of the movements that I've always seen taught as blocks (with one exception, below) are in this book clearly taught as strikes. This includes all four of the primary "blocks" typically taught in the west - the inward and outward block, the upward block and the downward block. In Parker's novel, these are all strikes. I learned them as blocks in Tae Kwon Do. I learned them as blocks in both forms of Kenpo and Kenpo-derived MMA I've been studying for the last year. My wife learned them as blocks in the style of Goju-Ryu karate she trained in for many years. In fact, the only time I'd ever considered that they could be strikes was when I was training at Syracuse Jundokan under David Oddy. Clearly the karate that Parker learned in the 1950s and wrote about in his book is closer to traditional Okinawan karate than what's been taught in my neck of the woods over the last twenty years or more. Amazing!
Now, to be fair, the book goes on to explain how those same strikes can be used as blocks, but it's clearly not their primary function. They're actually closer to the atemi I learned in Aikido - painful, distracting blows to the nerve centers that punish an immobilize an attacker - than simple blocks meant to ward off an opponent's attack.
So to summarize course 1 - wow, how things have changed over the last fifty years. The karate Parker learned and wrote about in his book barely resembles what I've seen and been taught over the years. Tomorrow - course 2!
Monday, February 7, 2011
What was Frank Herbert Thinking?
I'm going to just say it - Dune Messiah is a terrible, boring, awful book. Taken on its own, it might have been merely okay, but as the direct sequel to the brilliant, epic, endlessly-fascinating DUNE, it's plain awful. Primarily because DUNE was filled with political intrigue, action, interesting and unique characters, and tons (and tons) of dramatic tension. Whereas in Dune Messiah, pretty much nothing happens. There's lots of thinking, and some talking, and more thinking, and a bit of maneuvering, but practically no payoff at all. (A guy gets stabbed. Big whoop.) I've read this book now at least three times, possibly as many as four, and I've hated it every time. Only after reading the excellent series of Dune novels by Herbert's son Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson was I finally motivated to give the novel one more try. And, sure enough, having so much background on the characters, so much backstory, so much added life breathed into them and their actions, I was finally able to get through it. But for some forty years, all of that was missing, and the world was stuck with a truly craptacular sequel. Yes, yes, I know, lots of people love it. Bully for them - they're seeing something I'm missing, I guess. It's not for lack of trying on my part, and I've always felt you shouldn't really have to work that hard to enjoy a book.
After finishing Dune Messiah, I always moved on to Children of Dune. Again, it's a novel I've attempted as many as three previous times. In the past, I'd always put it down after a few chapters, just utterly worn out by how awful Dune Messiah was and finding Children of Dune to be more of the same. Well at last I can report: it's not! I really, really enjoyed it this time. There's action, there are interesting characters again, we get to see some old favorites, and Herbert's storytelling returns to a least a shadow of the brilliance we saw in DUNE. Which makes me wonder, "What was Herbert thinking when he wrote Dune Messiah?"
I went and read the plot summary on Wikipedia and, really, the book doesn't sound like it ought to be that bad. It just is. It's missing all the flare of DUNE, all the feeling of impending danger, all the spice, no pun intended, of the first novel. Bored me to tears time and again.
Anyway, I have to say that if you've ever felt this way about Dune Messiah, go and read the novels Paul of Dune and especially The Winds of Dune (originally titled Jessica of Dune, which I think was a better name for the second in the "Heroes of Dune" series). Then try the original sequels one more time. You may be surprised to find that Herbert and Anderson resuscitated this tired, old, broken novel and made it far more readable than it ever was before.
After finishing Dune Messiah, I always moved on to Children of Dune. Again, it's a novel I've attempted as many as three previous times. In the past, I'd always put it down after a few chapters, just utterly worn out by how awful Dune Messiah was and finding Children of Dune to be more of the same. Well at last I can report: it's not! I really, really enjoyed it this time. There's action, there are interesting characters again, we get to see some old favorites, and Herbert's storytelling returns to a least a shadow of the brilliance we saw in DUNE. Which makes me wonder, "What was Herbert thinking when he wrote Dune Messiah?"
I went and read the plot summary on Wikipedia and, really, the book doesn't sound like it ought to be that bad. It just is. It's missing all the flare of DUNE, all the feeling of impending danger, all the spice, no pun intended, of the first novel. Bored me to tears time and again.
Anyway, I have to say that if you've ever felt this way about Dune Messiah, go and read the novels Paul of Dune and especially The Winds of Dune (originally titled Jessica of Dune, which I think was a better name for the second in the "Heroes of Dune" series). Then try the original sequels one more time. You may be surprised to find that Herbert and Anderson resuscitated this tired, old, broken novel and made it far more readable than it ever was before.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
I am the Heretic of Dune
I'm about to blaspheme. I hated most of the original Dune books. Actually, I didn't so much hate them, as find them so tedious and incomprehensible that I just couldn't finish them. I've read the original Dune novel several times and it's a work of art. The good kind of art that's fun and memorable, not the crummy kind of art that doesn't make sense and makes you suspect that the art snobs are playing a joke on you. I've tried to read the sequels several times, though, but I don't think I've ever finished more than the second book in the series. And I didn't particularly enjoy it.
Part of the problem is that the end of Dune sets up an intergalactic jihad in which Paul Muad'Dib's Fremen warriors are about to spread throughout the imperium conquering all known worlds. And then... they do. Off-stage. We never get to see or experience any of it - it's just over. That was a HUGE letdown for me, and started the rest of the series off on a sour note that I never recovered from. Plus, it just felt boring.
So for many years, I was left with no satisfying window into the Dune universe. Then Frank Herbert's son Brian came along and, along with Kevin J. Anderson, took up the gauntlet and began to tell stories of Dune once again. They're widely-criticized despite being bestsellers, but I don't care. I've enjoyed them very much.
The first series I read went back in time just a short way, to tell the story of three key houses of the Landsraad (the equivalent of a House of Lords, sort of) in the time of Paul Atradies' father's youth. We got to see the rise of Duke Leto Atraides and his comrades, we got to experience the evils of House Harkonnen and their victims, and we got to watch the machinations of House Corrino, and the emperor. Woven through it all were the Bene Gesserit sisterhood with their objective of genetically manipulating the great families to create their own uber-mensch, the Kwisatz Haderach. The vile Tleilaxu also played their roles, with their chemical and biological modifications and experiments, so reminiscent of Joseph Mengele. But best of all, the stories were both entertaining and very true to the original Dune book in theme and in style.
The next series I read went much farther back in time, to tell the story of the fall of mankind's civilization at the hands of the thinking computers. They explained much about the origins of key houses, the reasons for the Bene Gesserit, the Mentats, and the prohibition against thinking machines, and even explained the origins of technologies such as shields, lasguns, and the ability to fold space for instantaneous travel. Again, I found them much more entertaining than the later books in the original series, and worthy successors to the legacy Herbert created in the original Dune.
Most recently, I read their series covering the time just after the end of the first Dune book. At last, the story of the Great Jihad was being told. It was excellent and again did a terrific job of pulling me back into all the parts of the original Dune book that I loved so much.
If you loved the entire original Dune series, I can't really predict how you'll feel about these newer books. Some people who liked Frank Herbert's books seem to find these new novels blasphemous. If you're just looking for a good, entertaining read that takes place in the Dune universe, then you could do a lot worse than to pick up these novels. I'm very glad that I did.
Part of the problem is that the end of Dune sets up an intergalactic jihad in which Paul Muad'Dib's Fremen warriors are about to spread throughout the imperium conquering all known worlds. And then... they do. Off-stage. We never get to see or experience any of it - it's just over. That was a HUGE letdown for me, and started the rest of the series off on a sour note that I never recovered from. Plus, it just felt boring.
So for many years, I was left with no satisfying window into the Dune universe. Then Frank Herbert's son Brian came along and, along with Kevin J. Anderson, took up the gauntlet and began to tell stories of Dune once again. They're widely-criticized despite being bestsellers, but I don't care. I've enjoyed them very much.
The first series I read went back in time just a short way, to tell the story of three key houses of the Landsraad (the equivalent of a House of Lords, sort of) in the time of Paul Atradies' father's youth. We got to see the rise of Duke Leto Atraides and his comrades, we got to experience the evils of House Harkonnen and their victims, and we got to watch the machinations of House Corrino, and the emperor. Woven through it all were the Bene Gesserit sisterhood with their objective of genetically manipulating the great families to create their own uber-mensch, the Kwisatz Haderach. The vile Tleilaxu also played their roles, with their chemical and biological modifications and experiments, so reminiscent of Joseph Mengele. But best of all, the stories were both entertaining and very true to the original Dune book in theme and in style.
The next series I read went much farther back in time, to tell the story of the fall of mankind's civilization at the hands of the thinking computers. They explained much about the origins of key houses, the reasons for the Bene Gesserit, the Mentats, and the prohibition against thinking machines, and even explained the origins of technologies such as shields, lasguns, and the ability to fold space for instantaneous travel. Again, I found them much more entertaining than the later books in the original series, and worthy successors to the legacy Herbert created in the original Dune.
Most recently, I read their series covering the time just after the end of the first Dune book. At last, the story of the Great Jihad was being told. It was excellent and again did a terrific job of pulling me back into all the parts of the original Dune book that I loved so much.
If you loved the entire original Dune series, I can't really predict how you'll feel about these newer books. Some people who liked Frank Herbert's books seem to find these new novels blasphemous. If you're just looking for a good, entertaining read that takes place in the Dune universe, then you could do a lot worse than to pick up these novels. I'm very glad that I did.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
[Novel Review] The Strain
A novel by Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan
I'm not really into the CSI-style television shows, but this novel, for me, read very much like I'd imagine such a show would read if turned into a novel. Which, for all I know, they have been. In any event, The Strain, the first novel in the eponymous series, combines Quincy-style forensics with good, old-world-style vampire action. And by the end of the first novel, I was hooked.
The novel centers around Eph, a doctor at the Centers for Disease Control who's trying to juggle his job, his affection for his young son, his divorce (and related custody battle) and a romantic involvement with his partner (that's never really more than a footnote). Suddenly, he finds himself called away from a weekend of baseball with his boy to a mysterious jetliner that landed at JFK airport with no signs that anybody on board was alive.
The first third of the novel, with only an occasional exception, revolves around Eph, his partner Nora, and their investigation of the planeload of dead people. We also meet the enigmatic Professor Setrakian, and learn a little about his youth as a prisoner in the Nazi death camp of Treblinka. Mostly, though, it's all about Eph and his attempts to unravel the mysteries of an international flight where everybody seems to be just fine, except that they're nearly all dead, peacefully sitting in their seats with no indication as to their cause of death.
It was clear pretty quickly what the authors were trying to do with the first 125 to 150 pages of the novel - they needed to set up all of the biological factors involved in the "disease" of vampirism, as it was clearly their intent to approach it as a type of plague rather than a mystical curse or other paranormal phenomena as is typical with most other vampire stories. They went to great lengths to show proper CDC procedures and technically there was a ton of information there. The problem for me was that I almost ended up like one of those passengers on the plane: bored to death, inexplicably found in my chair, the novel clutched in my cadaverous hands. It took considerable will - and faith - to force myself to keep reading when I got to page 100 and nothing had really happened. I was sorely tempted to simply set the book aside and read something else.
Ultimately I'm glad I chose to keep reading, because the latter half of the novel was really quite good. Once the vampire part really came into play, it became much more of an action-adventure, with the bulk of the technical detail cast aside in favor of good, old-fashioned man versus vampire battle. The climactic final quarter of the book, in fact, dragged me along so swiftly that I found myself unable to put the novel down, and stayed up late to finish it - something I confess I haven't been motivated to do in some time.
Ultimately I liked The Strain. I liked how they handled vampires from both a historical and scientific perspective. I liked the characters well enough, and I definitely liked both the rise of the vampires and the heroic battle to fight them off. It came off as extraordinarily well-researched when it came to technical details about anything from the New York subway system to CDC protocols. My big criticism remains with that first 125+ pages - there's just no excuse for the authors not making them more interesting. They showed they were capable of writing to that level later on, the needed to do it sooner. I get that they were building the foundation for a multi-novel series, and that there was a big payoff for the slow start. I do. But it's just sloppy, in my opinion, to bank on your readers slogging through to find that payoff without something helping them along - some action, some real dramatic tension, anything that gives them hope that the story's really going somewhere.
If they'd done that. I'd probably be rating The Strain somewhere in the A to A+ range. As it stands, I think B+ is as high as I can go. Still, if you're the sort who'd enjoy a story of vampires running amok in Manhattan and threatening all of mankind, grit your teeth, push through the early third, and enjoy the rest.
I'm not really into the CSI-style television shows, but this novel, for me, read very much like I'd imagine such a show would read if turned into a novel. Which, for all I know, they have been. In any event, The Strain, the first novel in the eponymous series, combines Quincy-style forensics with good, old-world-style vampire action. And by the end of the first novel, I was hooked.
The novel centers around Eph, a doctor at the Centers for Disease Control who's trying to juggle his job, his affection for his young son, his divorce (and related custody battle) and a romantic involvement with his partner (that's never really more than a footnote). Suddenly, he finds himself called away from a weekend of baseball with his boy to a mysterious jetliner that landed at JFK airport with no signs that anybody on board was alive.
The first third of the novel, with only an occasional exception, revolves around Eph, his partner Nora, and their investigation of the planeload of dead people. We also meet the enigmatic Professor Setrakian, and learn a little about his youth as a prisoner in the Nazi death camp of Treblinka. Mostly, though, it's all about Eph and his attempts to unravel the mysteries of an international flight where everybody seems to be just fine, except that they're nearly all dead, peacefully sitting in their seats with no indication as to their cause of death.
It was clear pretty quickly what the authors were trying to do with the first 125 to 150 pages of the novel - they needed to set up all of the biological factors involved in the "disease" of vampirism, as it was clearly their intent to approach it as a type of plague rather than a mystical curse or other paranormal phenomena as is typical with most other vampire stories. They went to great lengths to show proper CDC procedures and technically there was a ton of information there. The problem for me was that I almost ended up like one of those passengers on the plane: bored to death, inexplicably found in my chair, the novel clutched in my cadaverous hands. It took considerable will - and faith - to force myself to keep reading when I got to page 100 and nothing had really happened. I was sorely tempted to simply set the book aside and read something else.
Ultimately I'm glad I chose to keep reading, because the latter half of the novel was really quite good. Once the vampire part really came into play, it became much more of an action-adventure, with the bulk of the technical detail cast aside in favor of good, old-fashioned man versus vampire battle. The climactic final quarter of the book, in fact, dragged me along so swiftly that I found myself unable to put the novel down, and stayed up late to finish it - something I confess I haven't been motivated to do in some time.
Ultimately I liked The Strain. I liked how they handled vampires from both a historical and scientific perspective. I liked the characters well enough, and I definitely liked both the rise of the vampires and the heroic battle to fight them off. It came off as extraordinarily well-researched when it came to technical details about anything from the New York subway system to CDC protocols. My big criticism remains with that first 125+ pages - there's just no excuse for the authors not making them more interesting. They showed they were capable of writing to that level later on, the needed to do it sooner. I get that they were building the foundation for a multi-novel series, and that there was a big payoff for the slow start. I do. But it's just sloppy, in my opinion, to bank on your readers slogging through to find that payoff without something helping them along - some action, some real dramatic tension, anything that gives them hope that the story's really going somewhere.
If they'd done that. I'd probably be rating The Strain somewhere in the A to A+ range. As it stands, I think B+ is as high as I can go. Still, if you're the sort who'd enjoy a story of vampires running amok in Manhattan and threatening all of mankind, grit your teeth, push through the early third, and enjoy the rest.
Monday, September 13, 2010
[Novel Review] Shōgun
A novel by James Clavell
This novel deserves much better. If nothing else, it deserves to have had its review written back when I first read the book, rather than seven or eight months later. I mean, Clavell doesn't care - he's deceased. But such an outstanding novel deserves a review that can adequately and enthusiastically convey everything about it that made me attack this 1,000-page-plus novel and let it pull me to its conclusion as if I were on a high-speed rail.
Shōgun is loosely based on real people and events. The height of the Japanese feudal period involved such characters as Oda Nobunaga and Ieyasu Tokugawa - men who united Japan under their iron fists and dared claim the title of Shōgun - the supreme military commander second in rank only to the Emperor, himself. In reality, they were second to none in terms of the power and authority they held over the daily lives of everyone living in Japan during their rule. In the year 1600, when Tokugawa was still a daimyo - a high-ranking feudal lord vying for power against his peers - Englishman William Adams piloted a Dutch warship around the southern tip of South America and into the pacific. This was a historic moment for Europe, as previously only the allied Spanish and Portuguese fleets had ever made the trip (following the path of noted Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan). England and Holland, both protestant nations, were hostile to and in competition with Catholic Spain and Portugal, and their lack of access to India, China and Japan was a major impediment for them. Adams's arrival in Japanese waters - albeit with only a fifth of his hundred-man crew, all sick and storm-tossed - could potentially be a major coup for the protestant nations. Or, it might be a death sentence for the Pilot and his men.
In time, Adams came to be an adviser to the crafty, arguably brilliant Tokugawa. Together they befuddled the Jesuit priests, the Spanish merchants, and the other Japanese lords all contending for control of Japan in a deadly and lucrative game of politics. Adams came to be known by the honorific Anjin-sama (essentially "Lord Pilot") and opened up relations between England/Holland and Japan, at least temporarily, and expanded the reach of the Dutch East India company.
The novel takes these historical figures and makes them real people, with their own heroics and foibles, their own strengths and flaws. He renames them, probably to signify the extensive dramatic license he took with the people and events on which he based his novel. Tokugawa becomes Toranaga, and Anjin-Sama Adams becomes Englishman John Blackthorne. Blackthorne sails the Dutch ship into Japanese waters after taking heavy losses in a storm. There he immediately runs afoul of the local Jesuit priest and the Samurai (Japanese knight) who ruled the local village. Unable to speak Japanese, Blackthorne is at a significant disadvantage. The customs are strange to him, and the people do not value what he values. He's lost, both physically and culturally.
Blackthorne begins at the bottom - broken, adrift, and confused. Throughout the novel, we see him build himself back up. He's a brilliant navigator, engineer and mathematician, but none of that is important to the Japanese, at least at first. He's a curiosity - a smelly, uncouth swine with bad manners, a nonsense language and no position anywhere in the hierarchical system of the rigid Japanese society. They detest him, just as he finds their ways incomprehensible and ridiculous.
What's remarkable, then is to watch the transformation of John Blackthorne into Anjin-sama. Throughout the book, he literally becomes Japanese. He takes on their clothing, their manners, their customs (such as regular bathing!), and, perhaps most importantly, their language. Once he's able to speak Japanese, his ability to relate to the powerful men and (to an extent) women around him increases dramatically. He becomes an ally and advisor to Toranaga, who we learn is an eccentric yet ultimately brilliant strategist and politician.
Eventually, Blackthorne's "man-out-of-place" persona becomes an asset rather than a liability for him. As he wraps himself in the skin of a Japanese, he keeps the heart of the bold explorer that brought him to Japan in the first place. He dares where others would cringe. He speaks where others would remain silent. He impresses and offends those around him with his courage and audacity. The result is that certain of those in power come to respect him above and beyond all of the thousands of Japanese around him. Or, they hate him and wish him dead.
And it's those dichotomies that are the backbone of Shōgun. Those who hate Blackthorne and those who revere and even love him. The Englishman he was and the Japanese he becomes. The man who gets pissed on (literally!) and tossed into a foetid pit and the feudal lord who helps his liege claim the ultimate title - and the ultimate power - that of Shōgun!
Clavell's book is remarkable in not only how it portrays its characters, but in how it introduces its (presumably) Western audience to feudal Japan. You can almost learn to speak rudimentary Japanese by reading this book - but never does it feel like you're slogging through language lessons. As Anjin-sama learns the ways of Japanese society, the reader learns along with him - how and when to bow, to kneel, to speak or not, the role of the peasant, the woman, the courtesan - all are explained in detail, yet always through action and dramatic tension. I enjoyed Shogun immensely - from the death-defying naval escapades to the climactic ninja attack, and everything in-between. I even made my wife read it, and she enjoyed it just as much as I did (and although our tastes in books diverge about 80% of the time). I highly recommend this novel to enthusiasts of adventure tales, foreign lands, the "golden age of sail", Japan or anyone who just wants a darn good read. I whole-heartedly rate Shōgun an A+!
This novel deserves much better. If nothing else, it deserves to have had its review written back when I first read the book, rather than seven or eight months later. I mean, Clavell doesn't care - he's deceased. But such an outstanding novel deserves a review that can adequately and enthusiastically convey everything about it that made me attack this 1,000-page-plus novel and let it pull me to its conclusion as if I were on a high-speed rail.
Shōgun is loosely based on real people and events. The height of the Japanese feudal period involved such characters as Oda Nobunaga and Ieyasu Tokugawa - men who united Japan under their iron fists and dared claim the title of Shōgun - the supreme military commander second in rank only to the Emperor, himself. In reality, they were second to none in terms of the power and authority they held over the daily lives of everyone living in Japan during their rule. In the year 1600, when Tokugawa was still a daimyo - a high-ranking feudal lord vying for power against his peers - Englishman William Adams piloted a Dutch warship around the southern tip of South America and into the pacific. This was a historic moment for Europe, as previously only the allied Spanish and Portuguese fleets had ever made the trip (following the path of noted Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan). England and Holland, both protestant nations, were hostile to and in competition with Catholic Spain and Portugal, and their lack of access to India, China and Japan was a major impediment for them. Adams's arrival in Japanese waters - albeit with only a fifth of his hundred-man crew, all sick and storm-tossed - could potentially be a major coup for the protestant nations. Or, it might be a death sentence for the Pilot and his men.
In time, Adams came to be an adviser to the crafty, arguably brilliant Tokugawa. Together they befuddled the Jesuit priests, the Spanish merchants, and the other Japanese lords all contending for control of Japan in a deadly and lucrative game of politics. Adams came to be known by the honorific Anjin-sama (essentially "Lord Pilot") and opened up relations between England/Holland and Japan, at least temporarily, and expanded the reach of the Dutch East India company.
The novel takes these historical figures and makes them real people, with their own heroics and foibles, their own strengths and flaws. He renames them, probably to signify the extensive dramatic license he took with the people and events on which he based his novel. Tokugawa becomes Toranaga, and Anjin-Sama Adams becomes Englishman John Blackthorne. Blackthorne sails the Dutch ship into Japanese waters after taking heavy losses in a storm. There he immediately runs afoul of the local Jesuit priest and the Samurai (Japanese knight) who ruled the local village. Unable to speak Japanese, Blackthorne is at a significant disadvantage. The customs are strange to him, and the people do not value what he values. He's lost, both physically and culturally.
Blackthorne begins at the bottom - broken, adrift, and confused. Throughout the novel, we see him build himself back up. He's a brilliant navigator, engineer and mathematician, but none of that is important to the Japanese, at least at first. He's a curiosity - a smelly, uncouth swine with bad manners, a nonsense language and no position anywhere in the hierarchical system of the rigid Japanese society. They detest him, just as he finds their ways incomprehensible and ridiculous.
What's remarkable, then is to watch the transformation of John Blackthorne into Anjin-sama. Throughout the book, he literally becomes Japanese. He takes on their clothing, their manners, their customs (such as regular bathing!), and, perhaps most importantly, their language. Once he's able to speak Japanese, his ability to relate to the powerful men and (to an extent) women around him increases dramatically. He becomes an ally and advisor to Toranaga, who we learn is an eccentric yet ultimately brilliant strategist and politician.
Eventually, Blackthorne's "man-out-of-place" persona becomes an asset rather than a liability for him. As he wraps himself in the skin of a Japanese, he keeps the heart of the bold explorer that brought him to Japan in the first place. He dares where others would cringe. He speaks where others would remain silent. He impresses and offends those around him with his courage and audacity. The result is that certain of those in power come to respect him above and beyond all of the thousands of Japanese around him. Or, they hate him and wish him dead.
And it's those dichotomies that are the backbone of Shōgun. Those who hate Blackthorne and those who revere and even love him. The Englishman he was and the Japanese he becomes. The man who gets pissed on (literally!) and tossed into a foetid pit and the feudal lord who helps his liege claim the ultimate title - and the ultimate power - that of Shōgun!
Clavell's book is remarkable in not only how it portrays its characters, but in how it introduces its (presumably) Western audience to feudal Japan. You can almost learn to speak rudimentary Japanese by reading this book - but never does it feel like you're slogging through language lessons. As Anjin-sama learns the ways of Japanese society, the reader learns along with him - how and when to bow, to kneel, to speak or not, the role of the peasant, the woman, the courtesan - all are explained in detail, yet always through action and dramatic tension. I enjoyed Shogun immensely - from the death-defying naval escapades to the climactic ninja attack, and everything in-between. I even made my wife read it, and she enjoyed it just as much as I did (and although our tastes in books diverge about 80% of the time). I highly recommend this novel to enthusiasts of adventure tales, foreign lands, the "golden age of sail", Japan or anyone who just wants a darn good read. I whole-heartedly rate Shōgun an A+!
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