Archive for the ‘Reviews’ Category

Who loves dystopias? Me, clearly, because I wrote one, but still. A good dystopia story is totally cathartic, the ultimate act of schadenfreude.

Holy crap. Too many big words. To review:

Dystopia: a “negative utopia,” i.e. a supposedly perfect world gone horribly wrooooong.

Schadenfreude: A German word meaning “happiness at the misfortune of others.”

…Anyway, dystopias. I’m sure you were forced to read one or two in school, if you went to school in the US…in any case, here’s a few of my favorites, in no particular order (with Amazon links for your convenience):

Utopia by Sir Thomas More


This is worth a read for sure, even if it does mean putting on your Literature Hat and slogging through some archaic language. A traveler is describing this perfect land of Utopia that he’d visited. I was interested in what parts of the society actually seemed like a good idea (women working) and what sounded like utter crap (people will stop caring about gold is we make our toilets out of gold and don’t use gold for money).

We by Yevgeny Zamyatin


This is a rebellious book. It was first published in Russia in 1921, and immediately banned. While it was available in other countries, Russia kept it banned until Glasnost in 1988. I think anything worth strict government quashing for 67 years is worth reading! Really, We is a Classic Dystopia, in the vein of 1984 and Brave New World. The society in We is authoritarianism complete with names-as-numbers and lack of emotion. It wrestles with the question “How do you break out of your own mental prisons?”

Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess


I admit it: I have never seen the movie. While I intend to, I think I’ve been putting it off because film can never capture the voice of the book. The story is told in first person from Alex’s point of view. For those who aren’t familiar, Alex is an insanely criminal 15-year-old in a dark future England whom the government tries to “fix” with mind control. The entire book is written in dialect, a strange Russian-based language to which you don’t know all the words and have to pick up as you read along. The language removes you a bit from the visceral violence of the plot, and allows you to read with more of a cold, Alex-like mindset. Whether or not you liked the movie, the book is absolutely worth reading.

The Giver by Lois Lowry


Yes, you probably had to read it in middle school. Here’s what I appreciate about The Giver: While most dystopias are a conservative or authoritarian society gone wrong, The Giver is a liberal society gone wrong. When I read it again recently, I was a little embarrassed to admit that I really liked a lot of the things in their society…the lack of cars, the open sharing of emotions, the coherent role for young adults… of course, there’s a lot about it that is Horribly Wrong as well. Lois Lowry actually wrote two sequels, Gathering Blue and The Messenger. They were good, but not as genius as the original. I think the ambiguous ending was one of the great things about The Giver, and its sequels make it a little less ambiguous. Nevertheless, they’re interesting enough to read and draw your own conclusions.

Y: The Last Man (series) by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra, et al.


In 2002, a mysterious plague wipes out any animal, embryo, and sperm with a Y chromosome. The only survivors of the plague are a man named Yorick and a male capuchin monkey…and, of course, all of the females in the world. Perhaps this series is a little more “post-apocalyptic” than “dystopian,” but in either case, its vision of what the world would look like if all the men died is pretty damn fascinating.

Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler


I’m about a third of the way through this so far. I am reading it in small doses, because it’s depressing as hell. I think it’ll actually have a redemptive ending, but good lord. I have to be in a masochistic mood to read it; it’s set in a grim and horrible future America where crime and corruption are so rampant that people live in these little walled enclaves, growing their own food and trying not to get robbed/raped/shot.

In another post, I’ll touch on dystopian film, which is a delicious subject too big to be broached here. Lately Mikeatron and I have been doing double feature movie dates, where each of us rents a video that the other one hasn’t seen. So far I’ve managed to pick out weird and disturbing movies (Cube, eXistenZ), and he’s managed to get heartwarming 90s films (Enemy Mine, The Professional). I don’t know what this says about our respective personalities. Perhaps he is a big softy at heart. Perhaps I am not. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence.

I am about to let you in on secret, sacred knowledge.

First, a disclaimer: I am not much of a consumer. I tend to be predictable and somewhat pretentious in how I spend my disposable income. Mostly I spend my extra money on exciting food. I come from a long lineage of foodies, and am willing to label myself as such with some degree of pride. I love food, particularly when it help me feel a connection to my community or the earth. I am lucky enough to have a garden AND a year-round farmer’s market that I can walk to.

Anyway, that being said, I have some secret-ish Seattle spots that I am going to make public. Some of them are even unrelated to food.

#1) Paseo

Paseo is a sandwich shop, but you might not know it because both locations are more or less a shack, a shack with no obvious signage and a line of people in front. It falls into that kind of restaurant that I love most: greasy, hole-in-the-wall, makes me feel all hip and exclusive because it’s not advertised anywhere, etc. It’s cash only and the most drop-dead-of-a-heart-attack delicious meal I can imagine. The sandwiches are a delicious blend of flavors and textures: spongy, crusty demi baguettes that house a medley of crispy romaine, cilantro, divine caramelized onions, garlic aioli, and your choice of delicious protein substance. I have many friends who swear by their pork. I do not feel particularly passionate about pigflesh. (I will rant about my poser vegetarianism later.) So, the pork is apparently rockin’ if you’re into that kind of thing; I can vouch that their fish, prawn, scallop, and tofu options are freakin’ awesome. They’re closed Sunday/Monday and all of January…just because they can. They’re that good.

#2) Vintage Closet

The Vintage Closet has the distinction of being one of the few places that I will go spend disposable income that’s not on food. It is at heart a boot shop, although they’ve got lovely hats and other fun leatherwear. It’s leather a obnoxiously socially conscious person can feel good about owning, too: all used, all bought by the owner from her Secret Source of Secrecy. The boutique is open Thursday through Sunday in the afternoons and only accepts cash. Apparently “cash only” is a theme in the awesomeness of hole-in-the-wall places in Seattle. They’re at the corner of 65th St NW and 3rd Ave NW, right across from New Roots Organics.

#3) Bernie Utz Hats

Bernie Utz is the real deal, an honest-to-God Haberdashery that would make Johnny Depp proud. You want your Stetson? They’ve got it. You want a towering creation that would make Vida Boheme swoon? They’ve got it. Are you a grizzled bald man who wears a long leather trenchcoat and a leather eyepatch, who’s nearly died five times and needs a Greek fisherman’s hat in leather to complete his outfit? You’re covered. (Yes, he really was in the store when I went there, telling stories about his near-death experiences.) In any case, Bernie Utz is a trip well worth taking.

#4) Theo Chocolate

If you live in Seattle, you’ve seen their bars at most grocery stores, and know that Theo Chocolate is divine, delicious, and more expensive than a root canal. However, if you are a cheap bastard like me, you can go to their storefront, step into a darkened room that smells like heaven on earth, and have free samples of all of their deliciousness. You can also go on a tour; I haven’t done it myself, but I hear it’s pretty cool. You can also buy single chocolates that are less wallet-burdening and yet ever-so-satisfying, and a white chocolate orange lotion that will make you eat your own arm off. So, if you’ve been staring forlornly at the $3.75 chocolate bars in the QFC, look no further than the storefront at 4300 Phinney.

#5) 5 Spot Late Night Date

I image many of my local readers know about the 5 Spot already, but I feel the need to detail the Anne Bean and Mikeatron brand 5 Spot Late Night Date. The 5 Spot sit on top of Queen Anne Hill and boasts a unique and delicious “regional American Cuisine”. This translates to a main menu that stays the same with a few key dishes that rotate quarterly in accordance with the restaurant’s theme region. Some of the regions I’ve tasted include Oregon, North Beach San Francisco, Puerto Rico, the Florida Keys, and the Mississippi River Delta. It’s not just a few dishes that embody the theme; the entire restaurant is decked out in region-specific paintings, sculpture, and bathroom decor. It’s one of my favorite restaurants for breakfast or brunch, albeit a bit spendy for my tastes. However, after 10PM there is a fabulous menu of $5 “little dishes,” a bit bigger than an appetizer but smaller than a meal, which are delicious and satisfying. There are also lovely desserts and $1 PBR, so among all of that you can spend $20 for a thoroughly satisfying date for two. Afterwards, there’s a lovely walk down to Kerry Park, where you can get a picture postcard view of Seattle. Seriously. Had I not already found Mikeatron, this would make a killer first date. That’s why he and I repeat it so often, I suppose. :)

#6) The Knee High Stocking Company

The Knee High Stocking Company is an honest-to-god speakeasy. From the outside, it appears to be one of those mysterious little triangular buildings on the asymmetrical blocks of Capitol Hill. It has no sign, merely inch-high stickers spelling out its name by a doorbell. The windows are blocked with opaque brown cloth. In order to actually drink there, you must text in your reservation (although their number does not appear in their ad in The Stranger, nor does anything except a photo of the entrance). You then ring the doorbell, where someone in 1930s garb will answer the door and ask, “May I help you?” You then announce your reservation and are seated, plunged into a booze-soaked session of wit and banter. There are also about seven varieties of absinthe. Truly, visiting the Knee High Stocking Company is an experience.

That’s all I’ve got for the moment. Should you feel the need to confess your secret local loves, please, let us in on the scoop.

Ever since I was fifteen years old and stumbled across Sluggy Freelance, I’ve been secretly in love with webomics. In high school, webcomics and I went at it like rabbits. I’d read ten or fifteen daily, mostly on sites like Keenspot. I mellowed out in college a bit, mostly because I picked up the habit of paper comics instead. In fact, I became somewhat of a comics lit-geek. Now it’s kind of surreal to think that many of the comics I used to read have been around for TEN YEARS. When did that even happen?

These days I read only a few regularly: xkcd, Questionable Content, all of the creations of Drew Toothpaste and Natalie Dee, and sometimes Dinosaur Comics or Wondermark. There are others that I enjoy, a list far too long to mention. Except one. Recently I sat down and read in about three sittings the entirety of Anders Loves Maria, a Swedish comic by Renee Engstrom that just recently ended. My god. I cannot believe literature/entertainment of this quality is available on the internet for free. Seriously! The comic is a love story, spanning about four years of work which I devoured in just a few hours. It’s beautifully drawn, and has a masterful story structure.

Seriously, log off of Warcraft, sign out of gmail, and read this comic. Start at the beginning. It’s totally worth your time. And I don’t say that lightly about comics.

<resist> urge to go through and rank every comic I’ve ever read </resist>

Anyway, more later about my classes with David Wagoner, absurdist plays, and all of the other things that are bouncing around in my pea brain.

I picked up a book at the library the other day: A Season In Hell, by Arthur Rimbaud. I know little if nothing about Rimbaud. To be perfectly honest, I picked it up because of a line from a Gregory Corso poem (Marriage):

What a husband I’d make! Yes, I should get married!

So much to do! Like sneaking into Mr Jones’ house late at night

and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books

Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower

like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence

like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest

grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!

It’s a fabulous poem, and I recommend you go read the whole thing. Anyway, Rimbaud. I knew very little about him, and from the introduction I learned that he wrote A Season in Hell in 1873 at age 18, after going on a drug-fueled homosexual love journey that ended in violence, alcoholism, heartbreak and apparently, this essay. I’m not quite sure what to call it—essay, poem, rant, generalized adolescent freakout put onto paper. It’s really what so many people feel in their raging, hormonal hearts.

The remarkable things to me about this work are twofold: One, the raw passion of the work for the time. The 1870s in France were a time of political turmoil—the Franco-Prussian War, reflections of Eastern European communism. Somehow the inner turmoil in the work is even fierier than the world at the time. Secondly, the age at which it was written. I know I couldn’t turn out prose of that quality at age 18.  It feels like Salinger of the 1800s.

What I can’t decide is a) if I like it or not, and b) if it’s “good.” By “good,” I mean effective to its aims. I think it actually is decently effective at being a part of the throes of adolescent “passion as suffering.” I guess I’m just not sure whether or not the suffering stirs me much. Part of me is impressed, feels cathartic fierceness in his words. The pragmatic woman who’s passed through the gauntlet of the teenage years and the first bit of the 20s wants to say, “Hey. Arthur. Get over it, you silly man.” I’m not sure what to think.

Here’s the overture*, so that you can come to your own damn conclusions (which I would be keen on hearing):

“Once, if I remember right, my life was a celebration where all hearts were open and all wines flowed.

One night I saw Beauty in my lap. And I found she was bitter, and I called her names.

I found weapons to use against justice.

I ran away. Poverty, hate, you witches, my treasure was left in your care.

I managed to wither all human hope inside me. I attacked like a wild animal, and strangled every joy.

I called for executioners, I wanted to die chewing on their gum butts. I called for diseases, so I could suffocate in sand, in blood. Unhappiness was my god. I lay down in the mud, and dried off in the crime-infested air. I played the fool until I was really crazy.

And by spring I had the scary laugh of an idiot.

Now, a while ago, when I saw about to go Argh! for the last time, I thought I’d try to find the key to that lost celebration where—maybe—I could recover my appetite.

That key is Selfless Love. (—which goes tot show you I was dreaming.)

“You stay a hyena, etc….” shouts the demon who once crowned me with pretty poppies. “Go find death—use all your appetites, your egotism, and all the Seven Deadly Sins.”

Oh, I did too much of that. But Satan, please, don’t look so upset! And while we’re waiting for a few last-minute cowardices, here. You like writers with no talent at all for description or instruction, so take these pages. They’re for you I tore them out of my notebook of a lost soul.”

…mon carnet de damné…

What do you think? Deep? Pointless? Any good? Option D: Other?

*This being from the version translated by Robert Maplethorpe and published in 1986 by Bullfinch Press.