Never since The Princess Bride have I reacted to a movie with equal parts emotion and laughter. But, you know what? Even this is an unfair comparison, because Mary and Max is in a league all its own: part black comedy, part family drama, part psychological study. Mary is voiced by the lovely Toni Collette, who brings an insurmountable level of tenderness to the role in such surprising ways. Max, a surly New Yorker with an addiction to food is brought to wonderful life by an unrecognizable Philip Seymour Hoffman.
The story follows both characters as they, by pure accident, become pen pals. As the imaginative story begins, we follow Mary Dinkle as a little girl, without friends or any sense of self (or self-esteem), being raised by an alcoholic mother in the burbs of Australia. She breaks your heart, truly and completely, because her story so authentic. Yes, she cracks some hilarious jokes but hard, pathetic truth underlies every glimmer of comedy. With Collette’s adorable voice guiding the way, you completely forget that these are characters made of clay (unintentional rhyme). They become three dimensional, real, powerful and unexpected conduits for some super witty social commentary.
Max Horowitz, on the other hand, is an anxious, clinically obese man who, though he is aware of his psychological hang-ups, has no clue how to fix himself. He doesn’t like leaving his apartment, and occupies his time by eating. When he receives a random letter from Mary one day, he decides to respond. They embark on a multi-decade friendship, which sees both characters make good and bad life decisions along the way. Even better? It’s based on a true story.
Mary and Max is not just Claymation. Their characters are astoundingly real, touching, hilarious, and totally sad. The writing is better than some live action film I’ve seen. This story will stick with you for weeks after watching the final scene. And you will cry. Just go in knowing that tears will be shed. It’s better not to fight the inevitable.
I’ve shared my opinions before about celebrity authors but, for some reason, Gabrielle Reece is different. She can get away with it. First, I should confess that I’ve been a fan of this amazonian volleyball player since my high school days. Though I wasn’t into volleyball – my serves stunk – Reece was the first time I saw a tall, athletic, sturdy woman look beautiful. When I was younger, I was obsessed with the idea of being thin, that being “slender” would somehow bring everything into my life that was missing. Unfortunately, I was fighting against my natural size. At five foot ten/eleven, with fairly muscular legs, I wasn’t going to fit into a size two anytime soon. It wasn’t until I saw Gabrielle Reece look tall and fabulous, making muscle look awesome and achievable, that I started to change my tune. Way back in the 90s, I saw this exact magazine cover, and suddenly realized that I didn’t want to look like a waif. I wanted to be strong. Scratch that. Strong as H-E double hockey sticks.
As a fellow tall girl, I can sympathize; my feet are size eleven. Shopping for shoes is a bitch. So, when I popped into the bookstore over the weekend and saw Reece had written a book, I couldn’t resist. Truly. Rarely do I plunk down the cash for a hard cover, but it was worth the entire $18. I absolutely loved this book. It’s funny, informative, and I was thrilled to discover that Reece’s opinions on relationships and fitness are quite similar to my own.
Recently, Glass Slipper has been causing an uproar on daytime television. One excerpt gets interpreted out of context, and suddenly Reece is being accused of being anti-feminist, and setting the whole movement back by fifteen years. Total rubbish. After reading the entire book, I was shocked that one sentence was isolated out of so many other blunt, powerful thoughts on marriage. The whole “submissive” comment got blown completely out of proportion. For example, she doesn’t advocate becoming the next Betty Draper:
Laird is as good at showing me this type of attention as he is at surfing, but I’ll tell you this: if, in a few years’ time, it was all me, all the time, with the Shiny Eyes and the Interludes and the compliments, and I’d made sure I’d communicated my thoughts and feelings on his lack of commitment and got no response, I would seriously reevaluate.
Even more blunt:
And remember, the queen may be fair and the queen may be just, but if you cross her, she will cut off your head. The title is sitting there waiting for you. And if you choose to take it on? You will live interestingly ever after.
Never does she advocate the “submissive” behaviour as characterized by all the hoopla surrounding this overblown controversy. Reece is just as badass as you might think, and she’s not afraid to show her colours. She’s simply trying to remain civil and human and authentic within the dynamics of her family, but never at the price of health or identity.
Highly recommended for parents, athletes, anyone thinking of getting married… or, general fans of Gabby Reece. She’s got a charming potty mouth, so look out! Enjoy.
After Solaris, my brain needed something lighter, totally fluffy. Not so dark and heavy. Perhaps it’s a little ironic that I ended up reading another Deepak Chopra book, who is not exactly known for “fluffy” fare. Reinventing the Body, Resurrecting the Soul, however, was a pleasant surprise. More spiritual and philosophical than “heavy” in the traditional sense, this book provided the much needed break my mind required after Stanislaw Lem’s science fiction juggernaut.
Where does Deepak get his ideas?
I’m rather amused by Chopra’s ability to churn out books, almost on a yearly basis. Even though I always enjoy his thoughtful sentences and esoteric language, I’m always cautious. I approach each book with trepidation, half expecting him to drop the ball of spiritual enlightenment somewhere on this insanely productive publishing journey. Where does he get all his ideas, and how on earth does he manage to write something distinctly different every time? I’m constantly surprised by how genuinely separate and powerful each idea becomes. Yes, he’s a little too guru-ish, and his eyeglasses are quite sparkly, but I like listening to his voice, and his logic is unparalleled. He has the power to lull you into sleep, or make you think harder than usual, simply by opening his mouth and emitting that calm, meditative voice for which he’s become famous.
If I were to compare The Book of Secrets to Reinventing/Resurrecting, I would argue that the latter text is slightly more applicable to real life, with literal ideas and approaches to increasing one’s level of awareness. Reinventing/Resurrecting culminates in “10 Steps to Wholeness.” As unabashedly cheesy and new-agey this might sound, each step is unexpectedly achievable.
Zero expectations
Let’s be honest. The self-help industry is a billion dollar business. Its purpose is to (hopefully, for it’s namesake) “help” but also to generate revenue. But! When you approach a book like this with a grain of Buddhist salt, and just soak up the information without any expectations, that is when the interesting stuff starts to happen. We think differently, not because we’re trying so hard, but because we’re not holding on so tight to the results we hope to gain from reading the book in the first place. For example, my intention was to calm my brain down after an intense read. The lessons learned were an afterthought, totally unexpected, sort of like finding an old necklace you stopped looking for three months ago.
Why do I keep reading more Deepak?
I enjoy his perspective. He makes the universe sound like a pleasant place to live and be. Obviously, he’s wealthy enough to enjoy the best parts of the universe, wealth I’ve contributed to, but his words have the ability to bring me down from whatever breed of anxiety or frustration I happen to be experiencing at any given moment. I’m happy to say that, over the years, I’ve mellowed out significantly. I don’t worry about the small things nearly as much, and I’m open to new plans, instead of freaking out when the originals go to hell. I don’t take myself quite as seriously, probably the most valuable Deepak takeaway to affect my life for the better.
Have you read any Deepak lately? Do you enjoy spiritual texts, or does the mere mention of “self-help” make you twitch with irritation?
This is one of those rare cases when I’ve seen the movie first. Back in September of 2011, I branched out into science fiction, a genre I don’t usually explore very often. Solaris by Stanislaw Lem has been sitting on my shelf since then and, even now, having just finished this bizarre but philosophically satisfying novel, I haven’t a clue what to write. So I’ll start with the basics. Did I like it? Yes. What did I like about Solaris?
Translated from the French by Joanna Kilmartin and Steve Cox, Lem’s novel is an entirely different breed of novel. At least, different from what I’ve grown comfortable. First of all, Steven Soderbergh’s interpretation of Solaris is highly romantic. The relationship between Kris Kelvin and Rheya is at the centre of this unique story. Unfortunately, by doing so, he eliminated a great deal of what makes this novel such a mind-bender: the discussion of god and philosophy, scientific and academic politics, the impermanence of morality, and the difference between memory and reality. Certainly, Soderbergh touches on a few of these points, but remains within the sphere of romance for most of the story.
Also, George Clooney, who plays Kris Kelvin, doesn’t sit well in the roll. Kelvin’s character can be quite cold, controlling, and unresponsive, and Clooney just didn’t fit. Kris Kelvin is actually a very unlikable character. On the other hand, Natascha McElhone is wonderful in the role as Rheya. Although I haven’t seen the 1972 version, I’ve heard that its art house quality is both a bonus and a hindrance.
For contextual purposes, here is the publisher’s plot blurb:
When psychologist Kris Kelvin arrives at the planet Solaris to study the ocean that covers its surface, he finds himself confronting a painful memory embodied in the physical likeness of a past lover. Kelvin learns that he is not alone in this, and that other crews examining the planet are plagued with their own repressed and newly real memories. Could it be, as Solaris scientists speculate, that the ocean may be a massive neural center creating these memories, for a reason no one can identify? Long considered a classic, Solaris asks the question: Can we understand the universe around us without first understanding what lies within?
The novel, however, is a completely different experience. There are more subtleties to the characters, and their interactions with one another. For example, when Rheya first appears on the ship, I found it interesting that Kris Kelvin’s first instinct was to tie her hands behind her back. Knowing that she is dead, he’s unsure what to think of her presence. Is she a ghost, or a delusion? Despite his uncertainty, it’s control that dominates his thinking. The underlying current of his relationship with her is obsessive, not necessarily romantic.
With her hair falling to one side, she looked at me with the half-smile that had irritated me before it had captivated me. (55)
Probably the most compelling element of this story is the games Lem plays with the notion of memory. It becomes two dimensional, an image, not functional. When Rheya attempts to remove her dress, it doesn’t have a zipper and the buttons do not open. Ultimately, the reader hasn’t a clue who exactly Kris is in love with: Rheya, as she truly was in real life before her suicide, or Rheya, a living interpretation of his memories. Judging by the passion with which he fights to keep his Rheya-copy alive, I would argue the latter theory. Even Rheya doesn’t know what or who she is; she doesn’t know why she’s there, or why she feels lost when out of Kelvin’s company.
“My darling, I was the one who asked him. He is a good man. I am sorry I had to lie to you. I beg you to give me this one wish – hear him out, and do nothing to harm yourself. You have been marvelous.” There was one more word, which she had crossed out, but I could see that she had signed “Rheya.” (190)
Solaris is a heavy read, no doubt. It takes patience and some re-reading to wrap one’s head around the scientific jargon, but it’s well worth the time and effort. I guarantee you’ll enjoy the discussion afterward!
I’ve probably mentioned this before, but I have a love/hate relationship with the internet. Ironic, really, coming from a blogger. I just get these surges of irritation every time I see a person on the bus staring at their phone instead of out the window. Or, in an elevator. Or, at a restaurant. Or, a movie theatre. But I digress. Part of me recognizes and truly acknowledges the convenience that the internet provides for really annoying tasks: paying bills, shopping at Christmas, buying airline tickets, just to name a few.
But, I have this thing about human interaction. We aren’t doing it anymore. For instance, at work, we send emails to people who work ten feet away from our desks. Unless I get the impression I’m bothering people, I often get up out of my chair and speak face-to-face instead. Otherwise, I find I become quite isolated as the day progresses. Eight hours alone, staring at a computer, can be very… off-putting.
My initial feelings gained a little momentum when I stumbled upon Paul Miller’s Offline diary. A writer for a technology website, The Verge, decided to “go offline” for an entire year! Very ambitious, to say the very least. His year is coming to a close this May, and he posts a series of updates, thoughts on the experience, every month. He reflects on everything from internet withdrawal, to finding new hobbies, and rediscovering nature. I think you will be very entertained by his writing, which is comedic and witty with a touch of urban sarcasm. Even more insightful are the comments, which are usually positive, but often veer into snarky or confused. Some readers lose interest in Paul’s journey, and aren’t afraid to say so. Many are quite mystified by the entire project. I mean, why would anyone want to live without the internet? Why would they want to even try? What’s the point of it all? In all honesty, I probably couldn’t do it. Due to my telephone (and cellphone) aversion, I often use email and Facebook to make plans with friends. But, in my defense, I make those plans because, above all, my preference is for face-to-face interaction. IRL, as the saying goes.
After reading Paul’s most recent update, entitled “boiling it down to the essentials,” I was a little disappointed by the conclusions of his experiment. And, you know what? He’s disappointed, too! Perhaps it’s more a testament to the human element, our propensity for procrastination, and waiting for the perfect setting to complete a desired task, but the implications are interesting. Is the internet responsible for our own shortcomings? Of course not. However, I would venture to argue that, while we certainly have the ability to expand, or distract ourselves from, the social reach of relationship building because of online tools (this blog post, for instance!!), real-life, in-person interaction provides an irreplaceable experience we should not forget.
I welcome your thoughts! I also encourage you to read a few entries of Paul Miller’s Offline diary, as well as the comment conversations they inspired. Unexpected nuggets of wisdom await!
Although I haven’t read Agatha Christie extensively, Endless Night is unlike most of her work. It doesn’t feature Poirot or Marple. Even more intriguing, the Sunday Times professes Endless Night “one of the best things Agatha Christie has ever done.” And, when you search for lists of Christie’s best work, this novel is almost always included.
When penniless Michael Rogers discovers the beautiful house at Gypsy’s Acre and then meets the heiress Ellie, it seems that all his dreams have come true at once. But he ignores an old woman’s warning of an ancient curse, and evil begins to stir in paradise. As Michael soon learns: Gypsy’s Acre is the place where fatal ‘accidents’ happen…
It’s virtually impossible to talk about this novel without giving away the ending, so I will have to keep this review short and sweet. Endless Night is an intelligently written novel, an unusual and unexpected experiment with narrative. There are several clues that will provide just enough of a window into the answers: Michael’s mother and her attitude toward her son, the sentence structure and word choices, as well as plain instinct. I’m happy to say that I was able to form an accurate theory nearly three quarters of the way into Endless Night, but that didn’t make the ending any less shocking. Christie’s attention to detail and psychology is unnervingly brilliant.
If you like mystery and Agatha Christie, this novel will knock you sideways with surprise.
Perhaps the author’s name should be in air quotes because, technically, Gary Troup is not real. He’s a fictional character. If you were a Lost fan, you may remember that a manuscript entitled Bad Twin was found by the survivors of Oceanic flight 815. Having always been fascinated by the literary references throughout this show, I’ve always been curious about this novel. As a television tie-in, I wasn’t expecting a masterpiece, but I was definitely impressed by the quality of the writing. I am not ashamed to say that Bad Twin captured and kept my rapt attention. That is, until I arrived at the final chapter. It was just so predictable and, well, boring, that I couldn’t fathom how the pages could possibly be part of the same book. Although the novel doesn’t fail entirely, its promise (as outlined in the plot blurb) falls a little flat:
As a private detective, he spends his life seeking out dark places where demons lurk. But lately he’s been drifting along, taking on cases about insurance fraud or medical malpractice. Until Clifford Widmore walks into his office, and changes everything.
Clifford, an adult scion to the vast Widmore fortune, needs Artisan’s help. Clifford’s twin brother, Alexander, has vanished. Although “Zander” has alienated himself from his family in the past, Clifford believes that this time foul play is involved.
The closer Artisan gets to finding answers, the more danger his life is in. He soon descends into a mirror-world where friends and enemies have a way of looking very much alike. Artisan hatches a plan to uncover the truth. He sets off on a journey across the globe and, along the way, learns the Widmore family is full of dangerous secrets. Some even worth killing for.
As you can see, the references to the Widmore Corporation may strike a few chords, but the disadvantage to reading this after the show has ended is forgetting all the characters, where they’ve been, what they’ve done. Honestly, I didn’t even remember the Hanso Foundation, and what it represented, until I looked it up afterward.
However, the real joy of Bad Twin was, like the television show, its heavy dose of literary references. Artisan’s confidant also happens to be a retired academic, an English Professor with an Encyclopedic knowledge of obscure literary texts. It brought back memories of Sawyer and his voracious appetite for reading.
I still would like to tackle more books referenced in Lost, if only to read unusual, forgotten texts in genres that are usually out of my comfort zone. Bad Twin was disappointing, I think, because it started with such potential, and perhaps I was expecting something a bit more clever, but what I got was a very unsatisfying, face value mystery novel.
