Okay, so it's pretty obvious that Bloody Awful Poetry and I have been the only freakybloggers posting around here. (New review on the way!) I believe that Theatre/Teen Vegan/LittleChar has officially vanished from the internet, and god knows where on earth CosimaCat, Spring, Lena, and Andori-Isilee have gotten to. (Spring, I saw the draft of your post- PLEASE, finish it and POST!!!) We are glad to welcome Sekrit7 to the Freakiest blog on the web, and I believe that she will actually help us keep up the posts here. I am going to politely but forcefully remind everyone that they are still part of the blog via comments. Maybe not so politely.
Sorry, I just reread my post. I guess this is a bit rude and perhaps mean, but we need to keep this up! I also have something REALLY important for our New Englanders that might happen. So, off to comment to you all. I won't sound so evil if you take a look at the past 10 posts or so. Tsk tsk.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The best thing to have hit trilogy-land since that dude named Tolkien dreamed up those things with hairy feet.
Garth Nix is criminally underrated. In a world currently dominated by jeans-wearing bespectacled boy wizards (yes, you know who you are, Potty), a lot of so-called children's fantasy written decades before J.K Rowling (bless her golden stinking rich little heart) even thought about thinking about Harry Potter. Authors like Ursula Le Guin and (my hero) Diana Wynne Jones have had their works reprinted and re marketed to a whole new generation of readers who have a new found appreciation for this once-reviled genre. But in my not-so-humble opinion, a certain Aussie still isn't as appreciated as he deserves to be.
The man is responsible for writing quite possible the single best fantasy/sci-fi/adventure trilogy in the history of mankind. I leave the Lord of the Rings out of this; because it is virtually untouchable and also because technically LOTR isn't a trilogy at all- it's one very long story published in three parts. Ditto the movies.
Behold the Old Kingdom trilogy.
Go ahead. Feel free to take a minute and absorb the awesomeness of it all.
The Old Kingdom trilogy is a unique work of the imagination. I consider myself a pretty well-read young grasshopper, with some respectable knowledge of various genres, and I think Nix has borrowed and assimilated many elements from other fantasy novels and produced something totally original in context and execution.
To cut the blab ; the Old Kingdom is a fictional land, or country of sorts, where magic is not just part of everyday life, but the essence of Creation itself. This law, or Force (Star Wars anybody?) is referred to as the Charter, and this power is tapped into by residents of the Old Kingdom, to perform "magic" of their own. Charter Mages are those wise and powerful and talented and knowledgeable enough to have direct access to the power of the Charter. Necromancers are the bad dudes who want to manipulate all the power to achieve their own dodgy gains. The lesser people merely use it a sort of guideline to life and existence.
To the south of the Old Kingdom lies Ancelstierre, which is similar to our own world ;electricity, vehicles, buildings, etc. This is where the story picks up with the character of Sabriel. After fearing for her father's safety in the Old Kingdom, she decides to travel there herself to find him, and from there there's no turning away from the awesomeness that awaits you.
Themes of love, death, morals, ethics, betrayal, secrets, corruption, greed, the search for one's identity, the forces of good and evil, friendship etc all twist and mould and tie each other up in a great big knot that slowly unravels and then ravels itself back. But what makes these books so unusual and ingenious is Nix's portrayal of Death. Not death, but Death. Death is not merely a concept or theory or state of being, it's an actual, physical place, a trans-dimensional plane of sorts. The only human allowed to pass between the border of Life and Death at will is the Abhorsen, who acts as a guardian to the souls passing from Life to Death, and an exorcist whose job it is to "make sure the Dead stay dead". And you know how I love all that philosophical crap.
Oh and no prizes for guessing that Sabriel eventually takes over from the current Abhorsen, her father. The Abhorsen (there is only one at a time) are sort of the middle point between the "good" Charter Mages and the "evil" Necromancers. They work alone, using the power of the Charter Mages but the weapons and methods of a necromancer. Their job, their passing from Life to Death at will, is an oddity; they go against nature to preserve nature. A contradiction to their own existence.
Nix's characters take on a life of their own. Sabriel and Lirael are both completely and utterly not annoying, thank goodness. They manage to be strong female characters without ever grating on my nerves, losing thier humanity or their relatability. My favourite character happens to be a cat. A little white one named Mogget, reluctant assistant to the Abhorsen. Even Mogget isn't who he appears to be though. There's a lot that little kitty cat knows that the readers don't. He is incredibly ancient, despite his helpfulness, will not hesitate to kill his master to gain his freedom at the slightest opportunity. (Although I'm rather proud to say that I correctly guessed the true identity of Mogget halfway through the third and last book).
Despite its huge setting and wide scope, the Old Kingom trilogy never gets to heavy or difficult to keep up with. It isn't bogged down with too much historical information or extra detail. The dialogue is suitably not-verbose. Garth Nix does not bother explaining why certain things happen, or how something works, preferring to keep an air of mystique and vagueness about it, so that by the end of the three books you get the sense that this story has not even told you a fraction of the whole of the Old Kingdom saga. But to quote the god old Tenth Doctor "Once you know everything, you might as well just stop".
The trilogy is the closest thing to perfection I could possibly ask from a fantasy novel. Despite the fact that the second book, Lirael, takes place 19 years after the events of Sabriel, the story never lags or loses focus, and continues to build and grow, until Lirael ends in an infuriatingly suspenseful cliffhanger, and you're walking around the house at one in the morning, bleary-eyed, with the images of Charter spells and icy glaciers and Greater Dead demons still burned in your brain, pulling your hair and kicking yourself for not asking Michelle's sister if you could borrow all three books at the same time. And when you get your hands on Abhorsen, the final chapter, it wastes absolutely no time with introductions or story set-ups, but plunges right into the heart of the action, until it all rolls up into one last, screaming, rolling, fiery, hallelujah kick-ass final battle that makes Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows blush in embarrassment for its lack of awesomeness, against a villain that makes Lord Voldemort look like peanuts.
So.
If you haven't already guessed, I really really quite like these books, and I hope they never ever make it into movies. Oh Charter forbid they ever do that.
p.s I still adore J.K Rowling and the seven Potter books.
The man is responsible for writing quite possible the single best fantasy/sci-fi/adventure trilogy in the history of mankind. I leave the Lord of the Rings out of this; because it is virtually untouchable and also because technically LOTR isn't a trilogy at all- it's one very long story published in three parts. Ditto the movies.
Behold the Old Kingdom trilogy.
Go ahead. Feel free to take a minute and absorb the awesomeness of it all.
The Old Kingdom trilogy is a unique work of the imagination. I consider myself a pretty well-read young grasshopper, with some respectable knowledge of various genres, and I think Nix has borrowed and assimilated many elements from other fantasy novels and produced something totally original in context and execution.
To cut the blab ; the Old Kingdom is a fictional land, or country of sorts, where magic is not just part of everyday life, but the essence of Creation itself. This law, or Force (Star Wars anybody?) is referred to as the Charter, and this power is tapped into by residents of the Old Kingdom, to perform "magic" of their own. Charter Mages are those wise and powerful and talented and knowledgeable enough to have direct access to the power of the Charter. Necromancers are the bad dudes who want to manipulate all the power to achieve their own dodgy gains. The lesser people merely use it a sort of guideline to life and existence.
To the south of the Old Kingdom lies Ancelstierre, which is similar to our own world ;electricity, vehicles, buildings, etc. This is where the story picks up with the character of Sabriel. After fearing for her father's safety in the Old Kingdom, she decides to travel there herself to find him, and from there there's no turning away from the awesomeness that awaits you.
Themes of love, death, morals, ethics, betrayal, secrets, corruption, greed, the search for one's identity, the forces of good and evil, friendship etc all twist and mould and tie each other up in a great big knot that slowly unravels and then ravels itself back. But what makes these books so unusual and ingenious is Nix's portrayal of Death. Not death, but Death. Death is not merely a concept or theory or state of being, it's an actual, physical place, a trans-dimensional plane of sorts. The only human allowed to pass between the border of Life and Death at will is the Abhorsen, who acts as a guardian to the souls passing from Life to Death, and an exorcist whose job it is to "make sure the Dead stay dead". And you know how I love all that philosophical crap.
Oh and no prizes for guessing that Sabriel eventually takes over from the current Abhorsen, her father. The Abhorsen (there is only one at a time) are sort of the middle point between the "good" Charter Mages and the "evil" Necromancers. They work alone, using the power of the Charter Mages but the weapons and methods of a necromancer. Their job, their passing from Life to Death at will, is an oddity; they go against nature to preserve nature. A contradiction to their own existence.
Nix's characters take on a life of their own. Sabriel and Lirael are both completely and utterly not annoying, thank goodness. They manage to be strong female characters without ever grating on my nerves, losing thier humanity or their relatability. My favourite character happens to be a cat. A little white one named Mogget, reluctant assistant to the Abhorsen. Even Mogget isn't who he appears to be though. There's a lot that little kitty cat knows that the readers don't. He is incredibly ancient, despite his helpfulness, will not hesitate to kill his master to gain his freedom at the slightest opportunity. (Although I'm rather proud to say that I correctly guessed the true identity of Mogget halfway through the third and last book).
Despite its huge setting and wide scope, the Old Kingom trilogy never gets to heavy or difficult to keep up with. It isn't bogged down with too much historical information or extra detail. The dialogue is suitably not-verbose. Garth Nix does not bother explaining why certain things happen, or how something works, preferring to keep an air of mystique and vagueness about it, so that by the end of the three books you get the sense that this story has not even told you a fraction of the whole of the Old Kingdom saga. But to quote the god old Tenth Doctor "Once you know everything, you might as well just stop".
The trilogy is the closest thing to perfection I could possibly ask from a fantasy novel. Despite the fact that the second book, Lirael, takes place 19 years after the events of Sabriel, the story never lags or loses focus, and continues to build and grow, until Lirael ends in an infuriatingly suspenseful cliffhanger, and you're walking around the house at one in the morning, bleary-eyed, with the images of Charter spells and icy glaciers and Greater Dead demons still burned in your brain, pulling your hair and kicking yourself for not asking Michelle's sister if you could borrow all three books at the same time. And when you get your hands on Abhorsen, the final chapter, it wastes absolutely no time with introductions or story set-ups, but plunges right into the heart of the action, until it all rolls up into one last, screaming, rolling, fiery, hallelujah kick-ass final battle that makes Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows blush in embarrassment for its lack of awesomeness, against a villain that makes Lord Voldemort look like peanuts.
So.
If you haven't already guessed, I really really quite like these books, and I hope they never ever make it into movies. Oh Charter forbid they ever do that.
p.s I still adore J.K Rowling and the seven Potter books.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Update: A Poem that made me cry
So, I was bored and searching that poem on Google. Apparently, the REAL original poem ended "He began to draw flowers with his crayons. They were red, blue, and orange."
It's WAY happier and all that crap-but I like the other version better. It just pulls out more feeling and makes you think more. It almost can change you in a small way. Like "Oh, wait. I remember that poem. Am I giving in to the molding of my brain? (Or am I possibly molding someone elses?)"
Just for those of you that may have had your heart ripped out for a few seconds there. (e.g. me).
It's WAY happier and all that crap-but I like the other version better. It just pulls out more feeling and makes you think more. It almost can change you in a small way. Like "Oh, wait. I remember that poem. Am I giving in to the molding of my brain? (Or am I possibly molding someone elses?)"
Just for those of you that may have had your heart ripped out for a few seconds there. (e.g. me).
Sunday, March 30, 2008
"All children mythologize their birth".
Go get this book now. As in, right now. Go out, to your nearest bookstore. Walk there if you have to. Get an advance on your allowance, if you must. Steal from your brother's wallet, if necessary.
You simply have to own a copy and read it.
It's been a long time since I last enjoyed a book so much. I sat down with it for 5 hours; during that time forgetting to eat, drink, answer phone calls, perform regular bodily functions and hold normal conversation. I barely looked up. If the roof had fallen in at the time, I'd have barely noticed. My only mission in life was to go to the next page, the next page, the next page, etc..
I am not even going to tell you what it's about.
Well, okaaaay I will. The story revolves around the prim and proper biographer Margaret Lea, who owns and runs a bookstore with her father. She receives a most mysterious letter from Vida Winter, allegedly the greatest living English novelist of the age (the time period of the story is never actually mentioned, but if I had to guess I'd say it was probably around the 1930s).
The aging Miss Winter wants Margaret Lea, of all people, to write and publish her biography, through many interviews and research processes at Vida Winter's home in the Yorkshire moors.
Miss Winter, being a masterclass storyteller and also, therefore, a phenomenal liar, is an exceedingly mysterious woman. Nothing is known of her birth or early life. Within a 20 year span she gives 20 very different, very wild and very imaginative accounts of her birth and life (all obviously not true). But she is prepared to divulge the entire truth to Margaret Lea, for some sinister reason.
And so begins Vida Winter's amazing tale, of her family, and her life, and her darkest secrets, while Margaret also learns to face her own painful past. The "Thirteenth Tale", so called because Vida Winter once had a book of short stories published under that title, but mysteriously the book only contained twelve stories, the pages of the thirteenth one being completely blank. I suppose you could assume that this elusive 13th tale is the chilling, disturbing and tragic narrative of Vida's own childhood. To call this book "freaky" would be both inappropriate and an understatement. It has the elements of ghosts, adultery, incest, obsession, disease, madness, the concept of twins having their souls torn apart and placed in two bodies, insanity, life after death, secrets, the fragility of family, the love of strangers, murder, arson, rape, religion. All these themes and concepts whirling about and tying each other up in knots and giving you rather unpleasant sensations of being watched (or maybe it was just me).And if you find it all too confusing or boring, even; take my word for it. This is one book you won't be putting down until you've devoured every word of every page.
Diane Setterfield is my new hero.
And one more thing; pay attention to the way Vida Winter refers to herself in the stories. The pronouns she uses; I, you, we, and so on.
That is all.
You simply have to own a copy and read it.
It's been a long time since I last enjoyed a book so much. I sat down with it for 5 hours; during that time forgetting to eat, drink, answer phone calls, perform regular bodily functions and hold normal conversation. I barely looked up. If the roof had fallen in at the time, I'd have barely noticed. My only mission in life was to go to the next page, the next page, the next page, etc..
I am not even going to tell you what it's about.
Well, okaaaay I will. The story revolves around the prim and proper biographer Margaret Lea, who owns and runs a bookstore with her father. She receives a most mysterious letter from Vida Winter, allegedly the greatest living English novelist of the age (the time period of the story is never actually mentioned, but if I had to guess I'd say it was probably around the 1930s).
The aging Miss Winter wants Margaret Lea, of all people, to write and publish her biography, through many interviews and research processes at Vida Winter's home in the Yorkshire moors.
Miss Winter, being a masterclass storyteller and also, therefore, a phenomenal liar, is an exceedingly mysterious woman. Nothing is known of her birth or early life. Within a 20 year span she gives 20 very different, very wild and very imaginative accounts of her birth and life (all obviously not true). But she is prepared to divulge the entire truth to Margaret Lea, for some sinister reason.
And so begins Vida Winter's amazing tale, of her family, and her life, and her darkest secrets, while Margaret also learns to face her own painful past. The "Thirteenth Tale", so called because Vida Winter once had a book of short stories published under that title, but mysteriously the book only contained twelve stories, the pages of the thirteenth one being completely blank. I suppose you could assume that this elusive 13th tale is the chilling, disturbing and tragic narrative of Vida's own childhood. To call this book "freaky" would be both inappropriate and an understatement. It has the elements of ghosts, adultery, incest, obsession, disease, madness, the concept of twins having their souls torn apart and placed in two bodies, insanity, life after death, secrets, the fragility of family, the love of strangers, murder, arson, rape, religion. All these themes and concepts whirling about and tying each other up in knots and giving you rather unpleasant sensations of being watched (or maybe it was just me).And if you find it all too confusing or boring, even; take my word for it. This is one book you won't be putting down until you've devoured every word of every page.
Diane Setterfield is my new hero.
And one more thing; pay attention to the way Vida Winter refers to herself in the stories. The pronouns she uses; I, you, we, and so on.
That is all.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
A Poem that made me Cry
The Little Boy
Once a little boy went to school.
He was quite a little boy
And it was quite a big school.
But when the little boy
Found that he could go to his room
By walking right in from the door outside
He was happy;
And the school did not seem
Quite so big anymore.
One morning
When the little boy had been in school awhile,
The teacher said:"Today we are going to make a picture."
"Good!" thought the little boy.
He liked to make all kinds;
Lions and tigers,
Chickens and cows,
Trains and boats;
And he took out his box of crayons
And began to draw.
But the teacher said,
"Wait!"
"It is not time to begin!"
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
"Now," said the teacher,
"We are going to make flowers."
"Good!" thought the little boy,
He started to make beautiful ones
With his pink and orange and blue crayons.
But the teacher said "Wait!"
"And I will show you how."
She drew a flower on the blackboard.
It was red, with a green stem.
"There," said the teacher,
"Now you may begin."
The little boy looked at his teacher's flower
Then he looked at his own flower.
He liked his flower better than the teacher's
But he did not say this.
He just turned his paper over,
And made a flower like the teacher's.
It was red, with a green stem.
On another day
When the little boy had opened
The door from the outside all by himself,
The teacher said:
"Today we are going to make something with clay."
"Good!" thought the little boy;
He liked clay.
He could make all kinds of things with clay:
Snakes and snowmen,
Elephants and mice,
Cars and trucks
And he began to pull and pinch his ball of clay.
But the teacher said, "Wait!"
"It is not time to begin!"
And she waited until everyone looked ready.
"Now," said the teacher,"We are going to make a dish."
"Good!" thought the little boy,
He liked to make dishes.
And he began to make some
They were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said "Wait!"
"And I will show you how."
And she showed everyone how to make
One deep dish.
"There," said the teacher,"Now you may begin."
The little boy looked at the teacher's dish;
Then he looked at his own.
He liked his better than the teacher's
But he did not say this.
He just rolled his clay into a big ball again
And made a dish like the teacher's.
It was a deep dish.
And pretty soon
The little boy learned to wait,
And to watch
And to make things just like the teacher.
And pretty soon
He didn't make things of his own anymore.
Then it happened
That the little boy and his family
Moved to another house,
In another city,
And the little boy
Had to go to another school.
This school was even bigger
Than the other one.
And there was no door from the outside
Into his room.
He had to go up some big steps
And walk down a long hall
To get to his room.
And the very first day
He was there,
The teacher said:"Today we are going to make a picture."
"Good!" thought the little boy.
And he waited for the teacher
To tell what to do.
But the teacher didn't say anything.
She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boy
She asked,
"Don't you want to make a picture?"
"Yes," said the lttle boy.
"What are we going to make?"
"I don't know until you make it," said the teacher.
"How shall I make it?" asked the little boy.
"Why, anyway you like," said the teacher.
"And any color?" asked the little boy.
"Any color," said the teacher.
"If everyone made the same picture,
And used the same colors,
How would I know who made what,
And which was which?"
"I don't know," said the little boy.
And he began to make flower.
It was red, with a green stem.
~Helen E. Buckley
Sunday, March 16, 2008
A Very Premium Book and Its Equally Premium Movie
So. After weeks with no word from my fellow freakybloggers, and a push from the International Mastermind, my boss who gives me the highest payment by reading what I've written and commenting on them, I have decided to be selfish and post yet again. In truth I miss freakyblogging, and reading what you guys are reading, and I hope the rest of you come back soon!
Until then I'll just draw your attention to a book I've wanted to read ever since it came out, but only got the chance to read very recently.
Everything Is Illuminated, by Jonathan Safran Foer, isn't a freakybook on the whole, but its many disparate and freaky bits and pieces create a tale that proves sometimes just regular everyday life can be freakier, stranger and more miraculous that any freaky product of the imagination. The book follows three points of view, across three different time periods; that of Jonathan, the young American author come to Ukraine to find his grandfather's wartime saviour(a woman named Augustine)while writing a rather magical account of the village and people of Trachimbrod ranging from the early 19th century to World War Two; that of the young Ukrainian translator and guide who describes and narrates the search for Augustine using his hilarious and endearing mangled version of English, and all these being attached to letters Alex sends to Jonathan.
It sounds a bit confusing but once the book is in your hands it really isn't all that daunting, even being rather short for a novel with such an epic scope. The problem with Everything Is Illuminated, as one critic so accurately points out, is that its first chapters are so hard to read, mainly because "..you burst out laughing every few sentences, lose your place, get tempted to call your friends and read out long sections of the prose, and then have to start all over again".
The novel excels at being a comedy; in fact the last time a book made me literally laugh out loud was Tom Holt's Earth, Water,Fire and Custard, but also is so incredibly touching, poignant and utterly miserable, only to make you bust a gut laughing again by the next page.
Most of the humour comes from a dog named Sammy Davis Junior Junior, a "blind" grandfather who apparently has no problem driving a car or reading road signs, and my personal favourite, Alex's mangled English,which surely must be some genius form of sentence construction. The dialogue is also sharp, witty, and almost insanely funny;
Jonathan: I'm a vegetarian.
Alex: You're a what?
Jonathan: I don't eat meat.
Alex: How can you not eat meat?
Jonathan: I just don't.
Alex: [to Grandfather, in Russian] He says he does not eat meat.
Grandfather: [to Alex, in Russian] Yes you do.
Alex: [to Jonathan, in English]Yes you do.
Jonathan: No meat.
Alex: Steak?
Jonathan: No...
Alex: Chickens!
Jonathan: No...
Alex: And what about the sausage?
Jonathan: Oh god, not the sausage,no.
Alex: [to Grandfather, in Russian] He says he does not eat any meat.
Grandfather: [to Alex, in Russian] Not even sausage?
Alex: [to Grandfather, in Russian] I know!
Grandfather: [to Alex, in Russian] What is wrong with him?
Alex: What is wrong with you?
In any case, Bloody Awful Poetry highly recommends. There is also a movie adaptation of the book,starring Elijah Wood and directed by Liev Schreiber, which, for once, I am very pleased to say, is almost as good as the book itself. This is for the simple reason that it does not stay with the book word by word, neither does it stray too far from canon, but it simply becomes its won wonderful story while staying true to the essence of the novel. For a little taste of it you can have a look at the trailer. It makes an equally premium movie, with a supremely premium soundtrack,which is really just the icing on a very premium cake, as Alex Perchov would say.
You can buy the book here or purchase the DVD here.
Until then I'll just draw your attention to a book I've wanted to read ever since it came out, but only got the chance to read very recently.
Everything Is Illuminated, by Jonathan Safran Foer, isn't a freakybook on the whole, but its many disparate and freaky bits and pieces create a tale that proves sometimes just regular everyday life can be freakier, stranger and more miraculous that any freaky product of the imagination. The book follows three points of view, across three different time periods; that of Jonathan, the young American author come to Ukraine to find his grandfather's wartime saviour(a woman named Augustine)while writing a rather magical account of the village and people of Trachimbrod ranging from the early 19th century to World War Two; that of the young Ukrainian translator and guide who describes and narrates the search for Augustine using his hilarious and endearing mangled version of English, and all these being attached to letters Alex sends to Jonathan.
It sounds a bit confusing but once the book is in your hands it really isn't all that daunting, even being rather short for a novel with such an epic scope. The problem with Everything Is Illuminated, as one critic so accurately points out, is that its first chapters are so hard to read, mainly because "..you burst out laughing every few sentences, lose your place, get tempted to call your friends and read out long sections of the prose, and then have to start all over again".
The novel excels at being a comedy; in fact the last time a book made me literally laugh out loud was Tom Holt's Earth, Water,Fire and Custard, but also is so incredibly touching, poignant and utterly miserable, only to make you bust a gut laughing again by the next page.
Most of the humour comes from a dog named Sammy Davis Junior Junior, a "blind" grandfather who apparently has no problem driving a car or reading road signs, and my personal favourite, Alex's mangled English,which surely must be some genius form of sentence construction. The dialogue is also sharp, witty, and almost insanely funny;
Jonathan: I'm a vegetarian.
Alex: You're a what?
Jonathan: I don't eat meat.
Alex: How can you not eat meat?
Jonathan: I just don't.
Alex: [to Grandfather, in Russian] He says he does not eat meat.
Grandfather: [to Alex, in Russian] Yes you do.
Alex: [to Jonathan, in English]Yes you do.
Jonathan: No meat.
Alex: Steak?
Jonathan: No...
Alex: Chickens!
Jonathan: No...
Alex: And what about the sausage?
Jonathan: Oh god, not the sausage,no.
Alex: [to Grandfather, in Russian] He says he does not eat any meat.
Grandfather: [to Alex, in Russian] Not even sausage?
Alex: [to Grandfather, in Russian] I know!
Grandfather: [to Alex, in Russian] What is wrong with him?
Alex: What is wrong with you?
In any case, Bloody Awful Poetry highly recommends. There is also a movie adaptation of the book,starring Elijah Wood and directed by Liev Schreiber, which, for once, I am very pleased to say, is almost as good as the book itself. This is for the simple reason that it does not stay with the book word by word, neither does it stray too far from canon, but it simply becomes its won wonderful story while staying true to the essence of the novel. For a little taste of it you can have a look at the trailer. It makes an equally premium movie, with a supremely premium soundtrack,which is really just the icing on a very premium cake, as Alex Perchov would say.
You can buy the book here or purchase the DVD here.
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Downfall of the Freakish Empire!
Hello? Is anyone out there? I gotta say, this is really becoming sad. Have you all just completely FORGOTTEN this blog? Or are you just being lazy? I for one think that I am going to have to send out alert messages, if no one has posted in... *checks calendar* ...four days.
So, as my extreme and agonizing disappointment continues, I have one last thing to say. Not much really.
HELLO?!?!?!?!?!
So, as my extreme and agonizing disappointment continues, I have one last thing to say. Not much really.
HELLO?!?!?!?!?!
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