I haven’t written any book posts in the past few weeks out of time constraints, which hasn’t kept me from staying on track for my 52 books in 52 weeks challenge. I have updated my progress today with the three books I read over the past 21 days, being Bill Willingham’s Fables: Animal Farm, Jeffrey Brown’s Unlikely, and this one, Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass.

When my son ploughed through the entire Spiderwick Chronicles during the fall of 2007, I decided that giving him the entire His Dark Materials trilogy for Christmas would be a great idea. Of course, his interest (and mine, admittedly) had been piqued with the advertisements for the Golden Compass movie, but knowing full well it wouldn’t be released in English in my town and we’d have to wait for the DVD release before seeing it, I figured he could go the other route and read the book before seeing the movie.

He simply adored The Golden Compass. He’d keep me updated daily on Lyra’s progress, on her tribulations with Mrs. Coulter, her meeting with the gyptians, her travels up North, the awesomeness of Iorek Byrnison, and, of course, her improvement in reading the alethiometer. His imagination had not been captivated like this with the Spiderwick books, and I therefore took it upon myself to read The Golden Compass once he was done with it.

What I discovered was a surprisingly intricate fantasy-like universe, profound and layered, written in a perfectly dynamic, colourful, and paced style which doesn’t go too easy on the audience the novel is targeted for, while remaining gratifyingly escapist for adults. In fact, I enjoyed a great deal the modern themes Pullman was trying to convey through the people, politics, and institutions of his Earth, as numerous parallels with our (not-so-different) world were fascinatingly drawn.

My son’s started on The Subtle Knife, and I believe I will be next in line.

Book: The Golden Compass

Author: Philip Pullman

Publisher: Knopf

Next: Inconegro

Jeffrey Brown had successfully won me over with all his charmingly aching might with Clumsy, and I was more than eager to have the chance to read his follow-up, Unlikely, which, I was told, acted as a “prequel” of sorts to Clumsy.

Indeed, it recounts the autobiographical events surrounding the development and subsequent ruination of his previous relationship, the with the girl responsible for having him lose his virginity. This affair had been hinted at in Clumsy, and had obviously become a source of anguish for the already fretful Brown; Unlikely’s title foreshadows nothing positive, regardless if one read the previous novel or not.

Brown’s art style once again serves as a direct pipeline to the story’s emotional bulk, as his unsure, nervous lines help convey the overwhelming delicate narrative of his story, emphatically retelling elements of oft-endearing intimacy and heatwrenching dejection. Unlike in Clumsy, the timeline isn’t fractured, dispersing that still-vivid, open wound sorrow which prevailed that particular work. Instead, Brown’s approach, while still quite raw, has a sense of rationalisation and peace, making Unlikely feel like it was the final step enabling himself to put that whole messy, miserable situation behind him.

Book: Unlikely

Author: Jeffrey Brown

Publisher: Top Shelf Productions

Next: The Golden Compass

This past week, I needed a quick read. My private time had been scrimped through work and personal situations, and yet I wanted to keep the challenge going. But in all likelihood, I couldn’t commit to a true-to-form novel, so I decided to fall back on the folks at Vertigo and follow-up on their Fables series with volume two of their trade paperbacks, entitled Animal Farm.

Still very much in “getting to know you” format, this chapter introduces us to the slightly-mentioned “Farm,” an area of upstate New York where are kept most of the non-human Fables (everything from pixies to talking pigs), out of the necessity of keeping their existence secret from mundane human eyes.

Of course, not all is calm and placid on the Farm, as we become familiar with the inner political factions within the Fables community, of those who would be ready to head back to their homelands and fight instead of accepting their exiled fate. And this revolution stirs under the subversive command of one of the Three Little Pigs, while its armed wing is maintained by the incendiary Goldilocks.

While the genre-slashing mercilessly proceeds on (Shere Kahn dies, for instance) the universe of these exiled fairy tales unfurls a little more, revealing a not unfamiliar relationship between the human-looking Fables and the rest. The art is still very consequential with the usual moody Vertigo style: realistic, dreary, and perfectly acceptable. While some aspects of the storytelling are a little boilerplate (like how Goldilocks’ comical proletarian bombast cannot be taken seriously, yet we’re expected to consider her as a contentious and dangerous individual), writer Bill Willingham’s ace lies in his taught narrative, not to mention his knack for wonderful obscure references. His style has a compelling inherent sardonicism to it which allows him to pick apart these childhood icons with such (too much?) ease.

An interesting lead-in to bigger things.

Book: Fables: Animal Farm

Author: Bill Willingham

Publisher: DC Vertigo

Next: Unlikely

It had been a while since a book stayed stuck in the back of my mind like Adrian Tomine’s Summer Blonde did. The reflective nature of his storytelling continued to dwell in a very active part of my brain, contemplating various degrees of significance in its four stories. It is because of the residency it took up in my waking hours that I decided to read another Tomine book in my book-a-week challenge, if only to get the confirmation as to whether or not Tomine’s other works can live up to such an insightful work as Summer Blonde. In that respect, Shortcomings is an ill-named graphic novel.

Rather than a collection of short stories, Shortcomings tells the story of Ben Tanaka, an Asian-American movie theatre manager strung up on the “race-as-a-crutch” angle to account for his personality defects, and manages to be one of the most unsympathetic characters you’re bound to meet in a book: he’s unambitious, cynical, socially awkward, hypocritical, and a grump. Yet despite his aggravating flaws, we’re drawn to hang onto Ben as his tale of self-realisation unfolds, giving him precedence to shatter his worldview and allow himself to be just as everyone else, regardless of ethnic background: human, and therefore vulnerable.

The story is brilliantly multi-layered. Mostly, it’s a love story, or a story of love lost to be exact, as Ben struggles with his relationship with his girlfriend Miko, his fantasies, and inadequacies. But it’s also a tale of identity, bringing into focus how ethnicity can war with individuality, and vice versa. Ben’s constant falling back on his heritage for his problems, everything from his job situation to his incapacity to “make it” with a white girl, turns out to be the only way he can bolster himself. Our fear of solitude and our incapacity to communicate with each other, very prevalent Tomine themes, also haunt the pages of the book. Yet even with these dense themes, Tomine adroitly infuses the tale with a surprising amount of humour, which helps develop Ben’s tale into moments of sincere exactitude.

With a cast of characters that breathes with the realism of their overall averageness, Shortcomings is a unexpectedly tragic tale of one’s incapacity to overcome oneself, lost between who we are and who we’re expected to be.

Book: Shortcomings

Author: Adrian Tomine

Publisher: Drawn & Quarterly

So having books published and selling artwork makes you an unfliching success, right? Easy street opens itself up, right? No more worries, no more concerns, just you taking it easy, having a cocktail, watching the royalty checks roll in, waiting to get inspired… just you and your art, right? If anything, Julie Doucet’s autobiographical 365 Days gives us the time on what it means to be a visual artist today. The reality of it has more to do with scrambling for grants, toiling in un-air conditioned studios, and living with the anxiety of whether there will be work to do at all.

Doucet offers a glimpse into her daily life, spanning from November 2002 to November 2003, through the guise of a personal journal, with her art and collages complimenting her daily thoughts. She reveals the events in rather concise form without giving away too much, knowing that this project was ultimately destined for the public eye (most of her friends and acquaintances are referred to anonymously, for instance).

In that light, it isn’t as intimate or private an exploration as one might expect from a personal journal, but it offers a fun insight into Doucet’s daily routine (or lack thereof) and of events going on around her (like the near-bankruptcy of Drawn & Quarterly or the invasion of Iraq). Mostly, however, the book allows us the chance to marvel at her stylistic, distorted art, which takes full advantage of the real estate offered by each page. It’s a fascinating account and an artistically sound composition from one of Canada’s most original and astonishing (yet sadly under-appreciated) artists.

Book: 365 Days

Author: Julie Doucet

Publisher: Drawn & Quarterly

Next: Shortcomings

Consider the quirkyness of the premise: a millionaire Yemeni sheik contacts a mild-mannered British fisheries scientist to devise a way to bring the sport of salmon fishing into the arid Yemen. As in transplanting salmon into a Yemeni river and ensuring they survive so they can be fished by the local population.

A vision of pure madness, one immediately surmises, as did said fisheries scientist Fred Jones in the opening pages of Salmon Fishing In The Yemen; and I was honestly expecting to get into some sort of comedy of errors situation where a strain of foolhardy decisions and quiproquos would lead us to the inevitable failure of the salmon Yemen project. You know, a “it’s not about the outcome, it’s about how you get there” thing.

But then I found myself believing that the project could work. For the book, in essence, is a testament on faith, and how faith is conciliated in our modern Western lifestyle. And as the main characters of the book, rational, career-driven, normal people, begin to find sincere conviction in the success of the project, I followed as well. What was once too grand, too immense to even consider had become plausible, feasible, if not logical then definitely conceivable. Fred Jones discovers the meaning of faith, one of personal ideals and passions free from doctrines, just as he discovers the natures of those who surround him. Such uplifting aspirations are complimented with a deft satirical exploration of Western politics, in all its frustratingly wry nonsense and obviousness.

Book: Salmon Fishing In The Yemen

Author: Paul Torday

Publisher: McArthur & Company / Orion Con Mm

Next: 365 Days

The danger of reading Sylvia Plath is to have the tragic circumstances which formatted her death precede her work. However, when considering The Bell Jar it is extremely difficult to separate the two, especially considering the semi-autobiographical nature of the novel. Echoing her own experience through that of her protagonist Esther Greenwood, The Bell Jar is the life of a young, talented English major who attempts to cope with a society which expects her sensitive, gifted self to set herself into preordained roles, causing her to break down as her identity becomes suppressed. The novel chronicles Esther’s slow descent into a profound depressive state, marked by a growing sardonic dislike of the world and repeated suicide attempts.

Atop the novel’s feminist values is the most palpable account of depression I have ever read. Plath’s poetic prowess is charged to spectacular levels, and the attributes she endows people, objects and situations with are touching, cutting, impressionistic, and soul-splitting, but beautiful without reproach. The world of a person in such as state has never been more disturbing, clear, or human.

It is within this ensemble which lies truly the gift of The Bell Jar: a novel of rich, living language which conveys with stunning imagery the darkest slants our spirits can bend to.

Book: The Bell Jar

Author: Sylvia Plath

Publisher: Faber And Faber

Next: Salmon Fishing In The Yemen

If there was one good thing that came out of that “Honoré de Ballsack” thing is that it reminded me that I never read Balzac And The Little Chinese Seamstress. The idiosyncratic title had stuck in my mind, and the setting, which had been communicated to me through a review or two, also elicited my curiosity.

Taking place at the height of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, two privileged fresh-out-of-high-school youths are sent into a rural, mountainside village for “re-education,” in which they are expected to lose their bourgeois ways by learning life in a harsh, impoverished community. Through the discovery of a forbidden stash of classic Western novels and the romantic liaison developed with a beautiful seamstress girl, their story becomes a fable of the unwavering strength of the human spirit in the face of complete darkness. Placed in an environment which is supposed to “break” them, the novels nourish their souls and give them faith in the beauty, wonder, and simplicity of life.

Being a semi-autobiographical novel, we are presented with the opportunity to peek into a China which was wrestling against itself, defying the reality of a changing social landscape and evolving global trends. Shards of modernity puncture the musty, oppressive veil, with the conclusion of the novel setting the ultimate message that society will change through the will of individuals, no matter how oppressed they may be.

It’s a very textured and impressionistic book which is easily gobbled up.

Book: Balzac And The Little Chinese Seamstress

Author: Dai Sijie

Publisher: Anchor Books

Next: The Bell Jar

I decided to include Summer Blonde in the “catching-up” dimension of my 52 books in 52 weeks challenge after going to my favourite comic book shop and being stared at incredulously at the shrugging motion I made when the clerk asked me if I had ever read some Adrian Tomine. He immediately pulled out Summer Blonde from the stack and emphasised on how important it was for me to acquaint myself with the book.

It was incredibly easy to get into these four stories of social and emotional isolation, if only because of the normalcy and typicalness of Tomine’s characters. They’re nobody spectacular, nobody you’d really consider having any kind of story to tell, and that’s the hook there. The stories they do have aren’t necessarily stories you’d want to tell. Intimate, aching, and heart-wrenchingly real, we peek into moments where the bitterness and solitude are the only company around, where the true burden of social acceptance and personal longing weighs in.

It’s interesting when you think about it: urban areas have never been so crowded in the history human civilization as they are now. We share more space with more people than ever before. Technology has made it easier than ever to communicate with others, what with cellphones, instant messaging, email, and all variations and mashups of those mediums. Yet we are still lonely and isolated, we crave human interaction yet we are awkward and defensive when it does happen. Summer Blonde doesn’t have the pretension to answer that, but it does have the delicate insight to show us just how fragile and, well, human, we all can painstakingly be.

Book: Summer Blonde

Author: Adrian Tomine

Publisher: Drawn And Quarterly

Next: Balzac And The Little Chinese Seamstress

I was pleasantly surprised to realise that Patrick McGrath’s Asylum would allow me to reacquaint myself with the gothic novel. It hadn’t been presented to me as such. Essentially, I was told it to be a psychological thriller in which passion was pitted against reason in a battle for one woman’s existence.

As far as premises go, it’s rather spot-on, but the execution is deliberately and wholly gothic, as chilling mysteries, unspoken evils and appalling consequences await Stella, the main protagonist, wife of a highly regarded psychiatric doctor, as she abandons herself to her carnal impulses through an illicit love affair with a psych patient under the care of her husband.

As the dark excitants bubble up from under the ordered surface of civilization and human nature clashes with itself in true gothic spirit, one can also appreciate McGrath’s invocation of the Victorian romance novel, where socially unequal lovers challenge their status for their love. Only here, social castes are divided between the ruling polite society of “doctors” and the back-braking visceral community of “patients,” a division which only serves to motivate Stella and her errancy. The reality, unfortunately, is much harsher than two star crossed lovers separated only by way of social standing.

But what kicks off as quite the page turner becomes a cloudy, hazy ordeal where the tension gives way to a rather depressing final act and ultimately foreseeable outcome, feeling like we’ve mostly assisted to a morality play than anything else. It’s an enjoyable novel overall, in large part due to its adroit stylistic approach and veiled social commentary.

Book: Asylum

Author: Patrick McGrath

Publisher: Random House

Next: Summer Blonde