October 20th, 2010

Rose-coloured Reviews *The Social Network*

I came home from The Social Network in the mood to write about it, having absolutely no idea that it’s being called one of the best movies of the year and that *everyone’s* talking about it (see above link). Hello, I’m Rebecca, would you like to step under my rock?

In case you have your own rock, this is a fictionalized (some would say heavily) bio-pic about Mark Zuckerberg, the founder (some would say one of several) of Facebook. It starts with his life in college–being simultaneously condescending and insecure to his girlfriend, and conceiving of complicated cruel websites with his dorm-mates when she dumps him. From this, his social site-building turns more ambitious, more universal and less misognistic, and we’re off to the races.

The first thing you need to know about this movie is that the screenplay is by Aaron Sorkin who has written films, plays, but most memorably tv shows. It’s been a while since I watched much tv, but back when I left, Sorkin was the acknowledged televisual genius of homosocial bonding–in shows like Sports Night and The West Wing a group of smart, sweet, friendly guys tried to help each other navigate the world, their chosen professions, and those kooky kooky ladies–and it was brilliant. Other things, Sorkin can do well, but for cerebral male banter, he’s #1 (in my opinion).

So it’s funny, and fascinating, to see in this film the same intellectual snap and punch as Sorkin always employs, but with guys who aren’t sweet, who don’t like each other and who aren’t trying to help. Most of the characters in *The Social Network* are jerks by any normal standard, but Sorkin never succumbs to that Hollywood impulse to make the bad guys stupid.

And really, that’s my Hollywood impulse talking when I use the term “bad guys” because there aren’t any, exactly, in this film (except maybe Lawrence Summers, at that time the president of Harvard, and a big meanie in the film). Sorkin creates multi-dimensional complicated conflicted characters, who enact their internal conflicts by being more than a little externally mean. But even the worst behaviour shown here–and there’s some pretty bad stuff–is obviously justified in the characters own minds, and it’s Sorkin’s achievement that you can see those minds working.

The screenwriter has been getting some flak for the misogyny of the charcters, and some of it really is quite fierce. In contrast to all the previous times this accusation has been made of Sorkin, this time he has a defense–the characters he wrote about were jerks to women and did not think of them as equals. And maybe because that’s a feeling that Sorkin has wrestled with so often in the past, he is able to make the bad-boy behaviour seem pretty human, awful as it is.

But let’s be straight about it–there’s lots of awful in this film. It’s basically a couple hours on how people screwed each other in various ways. The music–here’s a helpful clue I spotted in the opening credits to help me brace myself–is by Trent Reznor–creepy, clangy, and dark. The director is David Fincher who did, along with a host of serial killer movies and music videos, Fight Club. Again with the homo-social bonding, again with the amoral, weirdly intelligent male leader.

But it’s a dark movie with some bright streaks–like I say, the dialogue is sharp and witty, even more so about halfway through, when Justin Timberlake shows up. You can just shut up about my early aughts affection for *NSYNC, I think JT is genuinely talented. And even if I’m wrong about that, he’s definitely charming as Sean Parker, some guy I’ve never heard of who apparently founded Napster (I’ve heard of that) and is a unequivocal jerk. Not a brainless one, though, and he does some interesting things in the movie, but on the whole I found him less so than most of the jerks in this film, because of the rest of them do equivocate, and that’s more interesting.

There’s exactly one main character that you can empathize with and root for, and that’s Eduardo Saverin, Zuckerburg’s one-time friend and business partner. As played by Andrew Garfield, Eduardo is a sweetie-pie but an eager dupe, and for most of the second half of the film appears to be on the verge of tears. Not easy to watch.

Which is how I felt about the whole thing in the end–there’s only so much power-mad conniving youth you can watch before you start to, as I told my viewing companions afterwards, wish you were dead. Despite my boundless admiration for this film, I did not actually enjoy watching it.

October 19th, 2010

Zactly

Substitute Canadian for American throughout, and “Canadian short stories” for “American films,” of course.

For most Americans, work is central to their experience of the world, and the corporation is one of the fundamental institutions of American life, with an enormous impact, for good and ill, on how we live, think, and feel. Yet the reality of business life is all but absent from American films.

James Surowiecki, The New Yorker, October 11, 2010

October 18th, 2010

Dear Readers

I’ve gotten a couple really nice emails and blog comments of late, both about Rose-coloured and *Once* and I just wanted to say here that I appreciate it–it’s really generous to take time out of your day to tell a writer you like his or her work. (I especially want to say this to those whose contact info came up wonky, so I couldn’t send a personal note).

And to the three readers who arrived at this blog somehow by googling “film body massage,” I am so sorry for the disappointment.

I saw the sunrise in Scarborough

Which is why I have very little in the way of interesting things to say this morning. But other people do!

First, writers in Toronto who use the library, maybe you could help them out by filling out this tiny survey?

Then, read Scott’s helpful (and amusing) list of 5 things that you shouldn’t argue about. You can’t go read the Toronto Star’s happy review of AJ Somerset’s *Combat Camera*, but you can get a snippet (plus some snark) on AJ’s blog. Andrew won the Western Magazine award, which is pretty much the content of the post at that link, but if you go there you can tell him congrats plus see a cute picture of a kitty-cat nose.

Kerry suggests you vote for *The Girls Who Saw Everything* by Sean Dixon for Canada Reads. I think that’s a good idea because Kerry’s usually right about stuff, but cannot personally vouch for this one having not read the book. Actually, I thought Sean Dixon’s novel was called *The Lacuna Cabal* (which it is, in the UK), which probably cut down on my odds of finding it. Things are looking up for me doing so now!

Anyway, you should go at least vote for *something* on the Canada Reads site. It’s all very interesting, even if you, like me, don’t know what’s going on most of the time.

October 13th, 2010

Fun guessing game–wanna play?

I’ll warn you upfront that I don’t have an answer for this–I just figure if I get a majority vote I’ll pretend it’s truth and count the case closed. So let me know what you think:

On the bus this evening, I overheard the following 1/2 of a cellphone conversation coming from behind me. Voice is male.
***
Hello. Hello. Hello?? Hello?? I’m on my way home. You’re cutting out. I’m on my way– Why don’t you let me call you when I’m home, I can barely–

I’m on the bus. Because I caught a ride with M. and he drove me three-quarters of the way home [RR notes: I swear he actually said “three-quarters”] Because S. was going to stay until 8. Because I didn’t want to stay until 8. Uh-huh. I don’t know. I don’t know. An hour? 45 minutes?

Why don’t I call you when I get home? I’m going home. What do you think I’m gonna do? I’m gonna walk Princess, grab some dubes, and go over to K.’s. [RR: I *swear*.] Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I’ll call you when I– No.

Ok, peace, whatever, it doesn’t matter. It does? Because of what I said to you last night? What did–? In my sleep? Oh, fine, hold me responsible for something I said in my sleep. I don’t care. Listen, my phone is going to die. I don’t want it to die before I get home. So I gotta go. It’s gonna– IT’S GOING TO DIE!!!

No, I won’t miss any calls from you.
***
Soooo…obviously, I waited a modest amount of time before turning around to see if I could match the voice to a face. In the back of the bus, I found some women and children, plus two young men.

One, perhaps early twenties, pin-striped shirt with v-neck blue sweater over top, big white-boy fro, at least one earbud, mouth slightly open as he gazes out the window.

Two, later twenties, green fleece sweater, sunglasses pushed back on head (it was raining), close-cropped hair and chin-scruff, holding smartphone-type item to his chin–grins at me wolfishly when he sees me looking.

The question I put to you is–which one was it?????

RR

October 12th, 2010

Do you ever get that feeling

…when you are driving or bussing or walking in the dark past a lit-up building, that there’s probably a person looking out each window? And that if you could get close enough and slow down enough and somehow make eye contact with all those people…it would matter somehow? The *how* I’m not sure of at all, but I always get that flash of sadness that I can’t do it.

October 8th, 2010

Loneliness

The short story I chose to take with me to read at Circus Wonderland in North Bay is called “Loneliness.” It’s from my forthcoming book, *The Big Dream,* not out until 2011, but I chose it because we were planning to set the story to music and it is the most rhythmic things I’ve written in a while. As it turns out, we set the piece to a video (by Andy Williamson, who did a great job), so it didn’t matter.

I’m still glad I chose the piece, though the theme, which is also the title, did not entirely agree with me, as I seem to be going through one of those sucky periods that everyone has, where I prefer not to be by myself for any length of time (everyone does have such periods, right?) and once you start to think that the weekend has a theme, you know you are sunk. Though everyone in North Bay (and en route) was nice, I didn’t get a lot of companionship on the trip. I love travelling for writing, and usually have a ball, but this trip was a bit tough. So I made the following photo essay as a way of giving myself a little company.

I got up very early and took the first bus of the day. I am wearing my glasses so that I will be able to sleep on the second (much longer) bus of the day.

I took the bus to the subway. People on the subway very early on weekends are sad. But oblivious to people taking their picture.

From Dundas station into the light.

This part of town is incredibly commercial and vibrant, yet the bus station always manages to look seedy.

It’s nicer inside, though.

Bus station bathrooms are not as bad as you’d think, but this stall lock is seemingly designed not to lock. Distressing.

I don’t know where these people were going.

Um, we stopped somewhere. Gravenhurst, I think. I bought a sandwich that wasn’t very good.

The foliage was nice, but you can’t really tell from this picture.

Yep, still on the bus.

Welcome to North Bay!

The sun coming out makes everything better. Even a really chilly parking lot.

I stayed in a lovely hotel, the Inn on the Bay.

Walking down Main Street. It’s pretty here.

In the background, a body of water. Maybe it’s the North Bay? I never found anyone I could ask.

I’ve never had a dressing room before, so I had to take a picture of myself in front of my vanity mirror. You can’t tell from the picture, but there are two men asleep on the floor behind me. I never really worked out the story there.

I’ve never read on a serious professional stage like this one, at the Capitol Theatre. Very impressive.

Eep, the audience assembles!

Cue smoke machine.

Dermot did a wonderful job as host of the evening.

Brilliant modern dance troup whose name I cleverly forgot to write down.

Somehow my crappy photography makes them look even cooler (just go with that, ok?)

The fabulous Pandora Topp, accompanied by Brian Quebec.

I was onstage next, but I couldn’t find anyone to get to take my picture. Bob Wiseman was after me, and he was great–I don’t know why I don’t have a picture of him.

Then the straight-ahead rock of Ethel and the Mermen.

The Bellwoods were on next but I had to go back to the hotel and sleep. Sorry, Bellwoods–I am sure you were great!

Solitary breakfast with my true friend, The New Yorker. North Bay is very quiet on a Sunday morning–I thought for a while I wouldn’t find anywhere to eat at all!

That was nice, but I’m ready to go home now, please.

And then I did.

So for this, my Thanksgiving post, I would like to express my thanks to everyone who hangs out with me, regularly or occasionally, who tells me stories or listens to them, shares fries, goes for walks, gives hugs, and keeps me from having to take my own picture. I am lucky to have you guys; life wouldn’t be much fun without you!

October 7th, 2010

Why date a writer

I’m really going to try to cut down on the number of email forwards I use as posts here, but I can’t help it; this one is funny! Some of this stuff is just untrue slanders, but not #6 and #13!

Of course, one solution to all this is just for writers to date other writers, so that both partners’ quirks will cancel each other out and you’ll be totally charmed by each others’ pretensions. I’m just sayin’…

EDIT #2: I originally posted this with a request for proper attribution, and Nicole kindly provided it–the author is Kathryn Vercillo and she originally posted the list here. However, I didn’t realize that her original commentary was something else–the list has been edited by Nitsuh Abebe and reposted here–thanks to Mo for pointing that out. I really hope I’ve got this all correct now!

1.          Writers will romance you with words. We probably won’t. We write for ourselves or for money and by the time we’re done we’re sick of it. If we have to write you something there’s a good chance it’ll take us two days and we’ll be really snippy and grumpy about the process.

2.          Writers will write about you. You don’t want this. Trust me.

3.          Writers will take you to interesting events. No. We will not. We are busy writing. Leave us alone about these “interesting events.” I know one person who dates a terrific writer. He goes out alone. She is busy writing.

4.          Writers will remind you that money doesn’t matter so much. Yes. We will do this by borrowing money from you. Constantly.

5.          Writers will acknowledge you and dedicate things to you. A better way to ensure this would be to become an agent. That way you’d actually make money off of talking people through their neuroses.

6.          Writers will offer you an interesting perspective on things. Yes. Constantly. While you’re trying to watch TV or take a shower. You will have to listen to observations all day long, in addition to being asked to read the observations we wrote about when you were at work and unavailable for bothering. It will be almost as annoying as dating a stand-up comedian, except if you don’t find these observations scintillating we will think you’re dumb, instead of uptight.

7.          Writers are smart. The moment you realize this is not true, your relationship with a writer will develop a significant problem.

8.          Writers are really passionate. About writing. Not necessarily about you. Are you writing?

9.          Writers can think through their feelings. So don’t start an argument unless you’re ready for a very, very lengthy explication of our position, our feelings about your position, and what scenes from our recent fiction the whole thing is reminding us of.

10.      Writers enjoy their solitude. So get lost, will you?

11.      Writers are creative. This is why we have such good reasons why you should lend us $300 and/or leave us alone, we’re writing.

12.      Writers wear their hearts on their sleeves. Serious advice: if you meet a writer who’s actually demonstrative, be careful.

13.      Writers will teach you cool new words. This is possibly true! We may also expect you to remember them, correct your grammar, and look pained after reading mundane notes you’ve left for us.

14.      Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for you. Writers may be able to adjust their schedules for writing. Are you writing? Get in line, then.

15.      Writers can find 1000 ways to tell you why they like you. By the 108th you’ll be pretty sure we’re just making them up for fun.

16.      Writers communicate in a bunch of different ways. But mostly writing. Hope you don’t like talking on the phone — that shit is rough.

17.      Writers can work from anywhere. So you might want to pass on that tandem bike rental when you’re on vacation.

18.      Writers are surrounded by interesting people. Every last one of whom is imaginary.

19.      Writers are easy to buy gifts for. This is true. Keep it in mind when your birthday rolls around, okay?

20.      Writers are sexy. No argument. Some people think this about heroin addicts, too.

October 5th, 2010

Rose-coloured reviews *Light Lifting*

There is pleasure in liking something other people like too–who doesn’t want to stand for an ovation for something great and think, “All these people are feeling what I’m feeling.” Which is why I was so happy reading Alexander MacLeod’s *Light Lifting* in the midst of the of all the wonderful press the book has been getting. It was a pleasure to nod and agree to all the praise–it’s not hype if it’s true. And I’m not really sure I can add much to the general consensus that this book is excellent, but it’s that shared ovational feeling that makes me want to try.

It’s no secret that I thought I was going to like this ahead of time. The first story–and some say the strongest–in the collection is “The Miracle Mile,” which Lee Henderson, Camilla Gibb, and I chose to include in The Journey Prize Stories 21. I love that story, as I do all those in JP21, but since I’ve read those pieces (and another dozen that almost made it) more times and with more intensity than I’ve read perhaps anything ever, I’m afraid I don’t have much more to say. “Miracle Mile” is a brilliant story about passion finely channeled into long distance running, and as many times as I’ve been over it, I read it again in the collection (because when I read a book I read every word, including the copyright page; is that weird?) and it’s still brilliant.

It was exciting to keep going this time, though, and find that the next story is completely different. “Wonder About Parents” is written in choppy elliptical fragments, way out of chronology, and a reader just has to work it out for herself. And it makes total sense–the narrator is an exhausted young father coping with three kids and a houseful of lice, looking back on a time when things were far worse. The prose reads like the thoughts of someone so tired, looking back on something terrible that has been somewhat softened by time and distance. The unusual prose style also keeps what is essentially a story about parents’ fierce and baffled love for their kids from becoming even a tiny bit sappy. This is my favourite part:

“Delousing. Then rinse. Naked kids, braced between our legs, standing under the shower. Facecloths over their eyes and mouths. Don’t swallow any of this water. Spit it out. Spit right now. A scar on our daughter’s stomach from before.”

Choppy, gross, a snag of memory on something the reader doesn’t understand, no setting off of dialogue–but, it’s so sweet and funny, too! It’s that “Spit right now!” that kills me.

It’s silly to pick a favourite story in a collection this uniformly strong, but because I always do it, let’s say it’s the title piece. A grim, detailed, slow-moving story about brick-workers in the summer, “Light Lifting” ends with a horrific depiction of brutality that I was convinced I had never seen coming. However, flipping back to the beginning (I do that sometimes when I’m freaked out by an ending), I found that it was all there from the start. How could a story that starts like this end any other way but brutal?

“Nobody deserved a sunburn like that. Especially not a kid. You could see it right through his shirt. Like grease coming through waxed paper. Wet and thick like that, sticking to him. Purple. It was a worn out, see-through shirt and the blisters he had from the day before had opened up again.”

Shudder–no wonder I tried to forget about that as quickly as possible, but how great is that prose? So exact, so precisely something you can see. (Thought: didn’t Pasha Malla have a great gross moment with sunburn in *The Withdrawal Method* too? What is it with short story writers and this topic?)

Even if this collection weren’t near as good as it is, I would probably still like it for the care it gives the subject matter nearest my own prose-writing heart (currently): work, how it’s done and how people feel while doing it. You can tell so much about a human from how she or he relates to the work at hand. This bit about working on a van assembly line is from “The Number Three”, which some have said is the weakest in the book. Maybe it is, but it’s still pretty stellar:

“People outside think people inside must hate the machines, but it’s not like that. The Local has to fight for every job, but precision is precision and a person working on something likes to see it done right. When he watched those hydraulic shoulders rotating, lifting 1,300 pounds and holding it perfectly still, always within the same range of a hundreth of a millimetre, he felt something, but it wasn’t hatred; it was more like confusion or a stab of deep-down uncertainty.”

This collection blew me away, start to finish.

October 4th, 2010

Proust Questionnaire (like the Frosh Questionnaire, but smarter)

So awesome Scott has answered both my Frosh Questionnaire and the much more intellectual Proust Questionnaire and thus inspired be to want to do that one too! So…I did!

a. Your favourite virtue. In me? Niceness, I guess. The old meaning of the word, before it got all corrupted to mean lame and boring: I care what’s up with other people, and like to listen to their stories, and I worry about their problems. I’ll chase a stranger down the street if she dropped a glove.

b. Your favourite quality in a man: Niceness.

c. Your favourite quality in a woman: Still niceness.

d. Your chief characteristic: my chattiness (this is what S put, but it’s mine too–maybe this is why we get on so well…?)

e. What you appreciate the most in your friends: Their time and laughter–S’s again, but I agree. Oh, and good ideas. And recipes.

f. Your main fault: Flibberty-gibbet (ie., short attention span, don’t finish things, forget things).

g. Your favourite occupation: Conversation.

h. Your idea of happiness: I don’t have a particular one. Makes it a lot easier to find.

i. Your idea of misery: Boredom. And being all alone.

j. If not yourself, who would you be?: Uhh…I have no idea. Sorry. I like me!

k. Where would you like to live? Toronto. That worked out well.

l. Favourite colour and flower: Orange and roses. Sadly, there are no orange roses.

m. Favourite bird: Mourning doves. So peaceful and chubby and patient.

n. Favourite prose authors: This questionnaire is so hard! John Updike, Francesca Lia Block, Alice Munro, Joshua Ferris, Leon Rooke, my brother when he sends me emails…this list would be different tomorrow (except the first two, who are always there)

o. Favorite Poets: Eek! John Milton, Michael Ondaatje, Dani Couture

p. Favorite heroes in fiction: Johnny Dangerously, Henry Bech, Owen Meany

q. Favorite Heroines in fiction: Weetzie Bat, Cheetaura on *Thunder Cats*, Anne of Green Gables, Jo March

r. Favorite painters and composers: Is this where I give up and admit that Proust was smarter than me. I like Mark Rothko and Bela Bartok, but I don’t think I could hold up my end of the conversation if you wanted to talk about them.

s. Your heroes in real life: Barack Obama, my brother, Bob Geldof

t. Your heroines in real life: my friend Val and my mom

u. What characters in history do you most dislike: Well, Hitler. I don’t really think of historical figures as “characters”, though.

v. Your heroines in history: Anne Frank, Harriet Tubman, Helen Keller

w. Your favorite food and drink: Coke Zero, breakfast cereals of all sorts, pears, chocolate, sushi of all sorts, eggplant in any form, bread of my own baking (ok, who am I kidding, most bread). I like food a lot!

x. Your favorite names: Jacob, Evan, Colleen–it is very helpful to be a writer when you like lots of names

y. What I hate the most: Boredom

z. World history character I hate the most: Some of these questions are repetitious. Still Hitler.

aa. The military event I admire the most: Operation Entebbe

bb. The reform I admire the most: Brown vs. the board of education.

cc. The natural talent I’d like to be gifted with: Musicality

dd. How I wish to die: When I am so old and have led such an interesting life that no one will be very sad, because I did everything I wanted to.

ee. What is your present state of mind: Thirsty, slightly fretful. If cd-launch-anticipation is a mood, then that too.

ff. For what fault have you most toleration: Confusion.

gg. My favorite motto. “This time of night’s for singing songs about the local news.”