Literary retrospective 2008

Ok, this is probably going to be borderline ridiculous. I can't even pretend there's a tradition to uphold here, either. There is egotism, though, as noble a force as any.

Last year's reading list was rather average, as you might have guessed. The one positive was the conscious move away from the Western canon, which I was inexplicably stuck for longer than is healthy. It turns out that, as I suspected, there have been good novels since 1930 too. I'll probably get around to re-reading Kafka and Camus someday, but at the moment I'm going to continue trying to spread out. This pretense of being a classicist when it comes to reading was really stifling me, and I've been enjoying my nascent journey in the rest of the literary world.

If I had to pick a favourite among this year's limited batch, I would have to say it was Paul Auster's New York Trilogy. There are two very personal metrics I have for measuring the "meaning" a book has for me. First, at least temporarily, my view of the world is forcibly moulded into whatever the book decides. Invading my dreams is a good start, but sometimes I also imagine that I have read something that has elucidated very deep truths about life that I have long suspected, but never been able to put down in words. It's the point of all books, I suppose, except that this sort of thing is rarely achieved. Auster's book is the first since Crime and Punishment where, on reading it, I started feeling as lost, confused, and unhinged as the narrator(s); that is a huge compliment, incidentally. It is easy to simply state that the world is chaotic, that life can sometimes be mysterious, etc. I think to have the idea really resonate, however, requires considerable skill. In Auster's case, I particularly liked how the stories abjured notions of identity, in particular the unforgettable (and rightfully unexplained) moment where the mighty Quinn witnesses two identical versions of the man he is set to follow.

Second, great books often convince me that as long as I find enough of them to read, I'll never lose the dream of someday writing of similar worth. I remember feeling the old itch to start writing even around 50 pages in, and by the end of it I imagined it was one of those stories written "for me", which I could imagine arising out of my consciousness, even if I might not be able to express the story as compellingly. Something about the way the characters were simultaneously lost, and yet almost walked into the pit willingly really resonated. (That's not necessarily a good thing, but I'll put it down to my lack of clear mental separation between what I feel and what I think others feel.) I've only read one more Auster (The Brooklyn Follies), which is good but not as good as this. Still, it also has these elements of chance, luck, and ponderings on fate that made the trilogy so compelling. If more of Auster's work is in the same vein, I might have found a new idol.

Number 2 for the year was probably Hemingway's For Whom The Bell Tolls: a great example of a book that I had been intending to read for a long time. Fortunately, the heightened expectations from the waiting were matched by the book's quality. I should note that I didn't really take all of it that seriously: yes, you wouldn't find a female character like Maria in a modern novel, but I forgive the novel because of the time it was written. Perhaps even for the time it was a little chauvinistic, but it's enough of a gray area for me to ignore it. I had heard a lot about the tight writing style of the book, which I initially imagined might make it quite pedestrian, even banal. But, it turns out that Hemingway is more talented than I am, because he uses the style to complement the sections where we hear the characters think, assessing and reassessing situations. An interesting way to relate to characters: my poor book-memory can't recall a similar device put to such effective use. The other plus in the writing is that it is extremely readable, probably because it is fairly heavy in dialogue. And finally, it all works towards that"hell of an ending", as McCain put it.

I was very disappointed with Murakami's Norwegian Wood, one of those books I'd meant to read for at least a couple of years; I was so focussed on finally getting my hands on it that I didn't even consider the possibility that I would actively dislike it. The style is fine, actually - it is absolutely distinctive, and it's the sort of thing that one can imagine being really engaging. Alas, only "imagine", because the story itself I found rather irritating. Toru's constant "trysts" might be seen as normal, given the time the story is set in. You could make a case for it, but I still found it quite distasteful. Instead of being sensual (which I could understand), it came across as just lascivious; I was especially fed up with the events of the last few pages. Like I said, though, the writing style is interesting, so once I've managed to put aside my disappointment, I might try the Wind Up Bird Chronicle.

It took a surprising amount of perseverance to get through a Huxley book I hadn't previously read - Time Must Have A Stop. I felt I pretty much have to, given that I was thinking a lot about time at one point during the year, and was eager to find anything that resolved the olde quote: And time, that takes survey of all the world / Must have a stop. "Must" - the "must" of one who knows, not one who hopes (I think the book brings this up towards the end). I don't have a lot to say about the book, except that I am glad to report that, on the whole, I liked it. I was worried that I would find Huxley's style positively callow, because the "me" who liked his books four or five years ago was very easily impressed. I initially did find myself cringing a little - the classic Huxley signposts like casual discussions about art at the dinner table, for example - but this passed. I think that Huxley's writings are still instructive because, while he sometimes does let the ideas get in the way of the novel, these ideas are still pretty interesting. They aren't just adolescent mysticism, because they are consciously about the interplay of art and science. The issues he deals with still haven't been answered, really; and while his personal views might not be novel, I can't deny that I still find reading his little essays-masquerading-as-novels quite enjoyable. Phew! One idol still intact. If I ever have the strength to go back to Hesse, I hope I can say the same thing!

I'll stop here, I think; while I did actually read a bit more than the above list might suggest, few of the other books had a particularly strong impact on me. All "good", but I have trouble enough writing about books I really like. Predictions for 2009? With the discovery of a nice little bookstore near where I live, I'll probably end up reading more semi-modern books; Updike, anyone? And while this is a little bold, I think I'll end up nominating Cat's Cradle to be my favourite book of the year. Were I a baser man, I would've cheated and included it on this list. But as proud defender of the sacred traditions of the retrospective, I shall wait for the next year to arrive, and see what competition Bokonon might face.

(Spoilers everywhichway)

I'm glad I finally had the sense to play Fallout. It only struck me recently that it's been three years since I bought the Fallout 1 & 2 bundle, and thus three years since my initial trip in the wasteland. My initial impressions were that the game was very successful in terms of atmosphere - I remember feeling as disoriented as the Vault Dweller, with the vast expense of the desert (and those Radscorpions) being a bit too much for me. Stuck with the belief that it was too hard, it took three years for me to get around to sitting down to play the whoe thing. I'm so glad I did! It's a difficult game by today's standards, but it isn't as bad as I remembered. One thing that strikes me is how unforgiving it is compared to modern RPGs - you've got to plan a bit before important events, and simple gun blitzes don't work. I liked this quite a bit: it was a good break from "sanitized" RPGs, which includes the BioWare school. Fond as I am of them, I must admit that they let you get through them without too much heartache. I wouldn't choose one over the other, but like I said, it was nice to know that the "other" way of doing things is just as enjoyable.

On the subject of difficulty, it has been pointed out that auto-levelling systems (which I believe are used in Oblivion) really take away a lot of the thrill of gameplay. The sense of fear at ultra tough enemies, and the sense of achievement when they are finally beaten. For me, it was those psychotic Deathclaws; why did the Gun Runners not want to help destroy them again?! The argument for auto-levelling might be that it makes games easier, but the cost is very high. It isn't as though the entire map need be filled with impossibly hard foes: even a few danger zones can add a lot to the overall atmosphere.

A better review than this suggested that the game is a true example of role playing. You can certainly see why. Any game where the end boss needn't actually be fought, and whom can be convinced to end his own life, has to count among the finest examples of choice permeating right through the game. As with any great game before its time, the choices that Fallout presented are only now making their way into modern RPGs. As usual, they are now touted as being great new innovations, opening new doors...

A classic game, definitely. Though you might tire of me calling something "one of the best", I can't help it: Fallout truly deserves its reputation.

Musical retrospective 2008

Traditions are traditions, and I've always been fairly dutiful in following them through. But I have to admit that part of me is a little embarassed with this retrospective, for fear of how it holds up to scrutiny in the future. One of the small things I've learnt through blogging is that insight is pretty much always callow in some regard. Which would be fine, but it can be embarassing when one thinks "Well, this time around I'll be sober and thoughtful", as I often do. Not that that's going to stop me writing anyway, of course...

Anyhow, this year I want to make it brief, even though volume wise I probably heard and thought about music much more than in recent memory. (Things have been going well in my attempt to stop my ridiculous under-listening habits of yore.) When reflecting over the year, I can think of three artists that define it for me, and all three seem to have a devoted underground following, but next to no "mainstream" recognition, which I use to include the roughly-agreed-upon canon of alternative rock music. I speak of John Prine, Sparks, and Ween. As coincidences go, it turns out that I have only three albums from each of them, but they are of more than sufficient quality for them to have worked their way into my personal list of greats. I've found their music gripping pretty much the whole way through, which happens rarely.

I think John Prine amazed me the most, because he is a stunning talent in a field I thought I knew quite well (the broad umbrella of singer-songwriter). The genre is known for its occasional excesses and overambition, yet Prine, by seemingly working within its most modest of settings, manages to create some of the most endearing music I've heard to date. (In any genre, might I add; while I dislike high praise in general, I really can't deny that I've felt this for nearly a year now.) What I find interesting about Prine's music is that the lyrics never fall into the trap of equating good songwriting with good poetry. Needless to say, they remain resonant nonetheless; all delivered with simple melodies, very hummable, but never frivolous. Songwriting wasn't meant to live on the page (not exclusively, anyway) - though it sounds trite, it is meant to be sung, to project words and give them meaning with melody and cadence. Several times, lines from songs resonate not just because they are a clever turn of phrase, but because they are accompanied by something memorable in the music - be it the melody, or even just the delivery. Prine's songs are masterful examples of these. I'd like to describe the music as "honest", although I'm not sure I can explain what that really means. I suspect that it's just a way to say that the music has Quality. Not something that you can actively achieve in music, but it seems that for his first three albums, Prine had this completely nailed down. It begins with the debut, of course - what an album! More high praise - to date, it's easily one of the most "mature" debuts I've heard. Wisdom is one part of it, but like I discussed with the lyrics above, it's also a matter of knowing what one's strengths are, and sticking to that. Like a couple of other great albums, it begins in the most gentle and welcoming way possible ("Illegal Smile"), rather than trying to floor you immediately with greatness. The greatness in this case is simply the endless stream of classic songs, with lines that resonate far longer than you might imagine the first time around. My final praise - it is one of those albums I wish I could hear again for the first time. (I've turned into one of those sycophantic reviewers, haven't I?!)

Of the three, maybe Sparks are the ones whose lack of success is the most puzzling. Prine we can sort of excuse because he was so without ostentation in a time that seemed to demand it (glam rock, etc.). And Ween, well they came out in the 90s, and, er, of course, their first song was called "You ****ed Up". But the success of Roxy Music and Queen suggests that the world was more than ready for Sparks. (Incidentally, I found it frustrating reading reviews of Kimono that accused them of being Roxy rip-offs.) Three years is a long time in music, agreed, but I don't quite see what changed from '71 to '73. Regardless, they seem immediately like one of those bands that can't possibly make a bad album (I've read that that's not true, but I hope my meaning is clear). The voice is the first element that grabs interest - while Kimono and Woofer are still fine showcases of it, it's the debut where it most powerful. My initial listens of Sparks were downright baffling; here was this remarkable voice, and it was put to the test in the craziest of songs. And the lyrics, far some being obscure and unsettling, which would fit in fairly naturally with the song structures, are consistently hilarious. Who can compete with Sparks for humour? TMBG, who I believe cite the band as being a big inspiration? Randy Newman, perhaps; but even he probably didn't have it in him to write "Here Comes Bob" (that song, man...seriously!). But the last ingredient is that the songs are simply melodic, which is one thing that prevents Sparks from being another difficult or unrewarding experimental band that is hard to get into. Indeed, while I disliked Kimono initially, I found myself unable to deny the very strong and consistent set of melodies that Ron writes with seeming ease. When all these things are combined consistently, it makes for some rather endearing music. You can't just shelve it as quirky, experimental, or listenable. It is all those things, plus enjoyable - can you ask for more?

I very recently expressed pure admiration for Ween, and I find myself often feeling like I should write more words of praise for Dean & Gene. I think part of the reason is that, of all decades, they started in the '90s - trends and times were not on their side, but talent sure was. It seems to me that there have been a number of "retro" groups since (and possibly before), although few display Ween's command of both breadth and depth. (My limited understanding is that most retro groups focus on '60s psychedelia or pop.) There is the backstory that GodWeenSatan consisted of selections from hundreds (thousands?) of hours' worth of tapes that they had recorded through their teens. It makes me wish I had the opportunity to spend hours on end putting the thoughts in my head on tape - would such rigorous practice create a songwriter out of me yet?! It clearly paid off for Ween, and I feel that they'll probably end up being one of my favourites from the '90s. Like Sparks, the one thing you can't deny is Ween are melodic, ridiculously so - without this crucial fact, their homages (or parodies, if you like - though I think that's extremely unfair) would not be worth very much. Indeed, I'd wager that this is essentially what will convert most people to the group, once the initial shock wears off. Can it really be the case that a duo that seems to embody the worst type of frat humour is capable of writing better 'tunes that hordes of more earnest competition? I think the surprising answer is yes.

(All this praise, but I must still admit - I'm still a bit scared of The Pod and its brothers.)

Aside from the holy trinity of '08, I think that Warren Zevon impressed me the most. When I purchased his debut, I really paid it very little mind, and was prepared for a pleasant distraction. Which is indeed what I first found, and how I shelved the album after a few listens. But something made me go back to it, and I became convinced that people who wrote good things about Zevon weren't just buying into the image - the classic artist troubled with personal demons, in this case alcohol the major one, who creates art from strife - he really does have something meaningful to convey. He seems to have a nice balance of the serious and the sweet -his ballads are really quite wonderful, and unabashedly set in the classic style of the love song. They also seem to be littered with great lines ("Time out of mind", which, knowing Dylan, probably inspired that famous album). (Also, if it helps, did you know he was tutored by Stravinsky?)

And finally - let me write very briefly about them classical tunes, which I surprisingly managed to stay interested in the year through. At the start of the year, Pyotr Ilyich's Piano Concerto No. 1 gave me hope in two things: that the genre clearly had something grand to convey, and that there was a chance that I would end up appreciating at least a bit of it. I spent the year searching for something similar, that I would immediately respond to. In hindsight, that's probably a bit too impulsive; and heck, that doesn't even work with popular song, so there's no reason to assume . But, all that being said, there were two other pieces that I liked more and more with each listen: Schubert's Unfinished, and Holst's The Planets. The former, what can I say, immediately gripping and a piece I cannot imagine even a complete neophyte not liking. And the latter, well - if my foray into the classical world only ends up introducing me to this, I'll have little cause for complaint. I dislike the overuse of words like transcendent, because it ought to be reserved for pieces like this.

And what of the year ahead? Hmm. Funkadelic, Zappa, and Drake? And you know, I might get around to finally hearing some indie classics that I've constantly denigrated without listening to them (I defend this most of the time - I only do this if there are sufficient warning signs). Most of all, I hope I can continue revising my stance on various issues related to music (such as my revelation about the place of lyrics this year), in hopes of becoming a more discerning listener.

For as long as I can remember, I've been seeking out a supposedly great book on the Riemann Hypothesis: John Derbyshire's Prime Obsession. Reviews from various sources have me all but convinced that it is the book on the topic, something that isn't afraid to go into details about the towering problem of our time. A few days ago, I had the most unexpected revelation relating to the book. The author, it turns out, isn't just another pleasant fellow who likes his maths and science. No, it turns out that Derbyshire has very..."conservative" views on social issues; race and immigration, for example. Suffice to say, they gave me a most unexpected jolt. Now, I don't mean to judge Derbyshire; although I won't pretend like I wasn't shocked at finding out these things, he is certainly entitled to believe whatever he wants. But why I found it hard to come to terms to with the information is a really naive preconception on my part: that people with similar passions as me might not share my world view, and might even actively reject it! Conflating intellectual interests and societal/world views is much more erroneous than I initially thought.

When she sat beside me, a gentle waft of moth balls filled the air. After the initial surprise wore off, I wondered whether my search was officially over.

1) Ween, "The Argus". Every time I start to question the worth of the wondrous duo, I revisit or discover one of their songs and have to admit that at the very least they are ridiculously talented, and that when they feel like it, they can come up songs worthy of a place in their idols' catalogues. At the risk of setting myself up for future embarassement, I'll posit that this song is perfect.

2) Warren Zevon, "Desperadoes Under The Eaves". Featuring the finest quatrain of the album, and possibly the finest melody too - but somehow it still isn't the best song (not without a tie, anyway)!

3) John Prine, "The Late John Garfield Blues". It reminds me of early Dylan - I don't quite understand it, but lines oddly resonate in a way that convinces me that he's upto something.

Apparently the last Dirt Cheap CDs store in Sydney closed down last week, which despite my geographic isolation from the scene is cause for some reflection. While I was surprised, I can't say that this came out of the blue, as funnily enough my departure from the city seemed to coincide with a few signs that the store was not doing so well. Something about the newsletters they sent out suggested trouble, not to mention the steady increase in prices to around $17 a CD - still "cheap", but a far cry from the wonderful $10 heyday. But I didn't realize that it was bad enough for the store to close down.

Honestly, my visits during the last year weren't as frequent as the period following my initial discovery, but I did keep alive the tradition of a visit every holiday. I will not forget the opportunities it offered for "experimentation" - of those that succeeded, I can recall Paul Simon and, my lord, Ram (!!!). Along with its cousin RockBottom (which disappeared a couple of years ago, I think), it has constituted a not-inconsequential portion of my CD collection. I can't help but associate it with the wonderful period of building my collection from scratch, where it seemed that the possibilities were limitless, and that there was scope to be taught a lot of important things through music. Nowadays, the horizon still seems never-ending, but the sense of excitement has settled a little. I think I've grown more reflective and critical over the years, which is a good thing, but I also find that I'm rarely surprised with music. Excited, definitely, but the thrill of the early days, where buying a CD was a big event that required careful selection, has subsided. Whatever road my musical tastes travel nowadays, I owe a lot to the young & free days now past.

At least JB seems as strong as ever; I was slightly worried during a recent visit to see a larger number of import CDs, but I am assured that its range of $10 buys is as good as ever. And I hope the independents manage to stay alive - I will be distraught if something like Mojo goes under! I suppose DC was quite a "commercial" store, but I will miss the feeling of it nonetheless. At the very least, it still has an online presence. Not the same as browsing through the store for Smiths and Cure albums, but at least it's a reminder of better times.

Surprisingly, it's rare that I'm really exposed to the fact that my philosophies and principles are so egregiously out of place in what constitutes normal society. I tend to treat them as idiosyncracies for the most part, and indeed I've become so used to them that I've grown convinced that even if they aren't common, they're at least valid. But when I try explaining any of these things to a polite enquirer, to whom they sound exotic and foreign, I just end up blathering due to the perceived frivolty of the whole thing, and uncomfortably try to switch topics; indeed, at these moments I'm more than open to the possibility of the frivolty being much more than "perceived"!

I have to admit that valuable as my particular slant on most things is to me, there are moments where I question their validity, and wonder whether they are a consequence of inordinate time spent thinking about these matters: time better spent, and I think this is the root of it, actually doing something. Yes, even I sometimes envy the world outside me.

A favourite observation of mine, one which I'm convinced has deeper implications than I realize, is that life is continuous, that time knows naught but how to move forward. This principle is seen at work in another favourite of mine, the revelation. Information exists, somewhere in the universe, perhaps only in the mind of a single person, and yet in only a second it can be splayed across the entire cosmos, visible to all who care to look! And once it's out there, of course, one cannot retract it, and lives are necessarily changed by truths that have always been, but which the mind has only now become conscious of.

My mind sometimes plays tricks on me when I struggle to make out a face in the horizon. There can be a split-second where I'm convinced it's someone whose physical presence is impossible, but before I have the opportunity to rationalize this, the emotional connection is made. An unusual manifestation of missing certain interactions, one which I've experiened a few too many times this month.