ENCYCLOPEDIA BROWN - "No case too small"

Encyclopedia Brown by Donald J. Sobol

Rather than talking about a specific book, this blog is a bit different. It's part character profile, part personal experience. For me, there's no better place to start than with my first favorite fictional character, and the one that had a significant impact on my psyche - Encyclopedia Brown, boy detective.

Leroy "Encyclopedia" Brown is ten years old, the son of the Chief of Police in Idaville, and is often described as "a complete library walking around in sneakers". When he's not helping his father solve cases at the dinner table, he runs his own detective agency out of the garage with his partner, Sally Kimball.

Brown owes a debt to both Sherlock Holmes and Nero Wolfe (especially the latter) - he's brainy, distinctly non-physical, and, like Wolfe, he leans back and closes his eyes as he listens to the details of the case being presented to him. Sally fills, in part, the Archie Goodwin role, acting primarily as the detective's bodyguard, but also helping him solve the cases, at times. 

Recommended to me by my sister, Encyclopedia Brown was my introduction to mysteries. The series eventually led me to the aforementioned Holmes and Wolfe, as well as the Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators, Kinsey Milhone, Matthew Scudder, Kenzie and Gennaro, Easy Rawlins, and many others. 

But the influence went beyond that. Obviously, part of what drew me to the books was identifying with the main character. As a quiet, smart kid who was bullied, I couldn't help it. I went through a fairly long phase of wanting to be a detective when I grew up (including calling an actual detective agency when I was about 11 to find out what qualifications were needed to become one). I learned critical thinking, careful observation, and making intuitive leaps from Encyclopedia Brown, as well. 

And, most telling, my best friends were often girls (and, later, women) who were generally more assertive than I was, at least as smart as I was, and (if necessary) could probably handle themselves better in a fight than I could. More often than not I nursed crushes that I kept to myself, while quietly disliking whomever they were interested in at the time.

More than any other fictional character, or single book, Encyclopedia Brown changed my life. Because of him, I grew up taking pride in my intelligence (maybe a bit too much, at times), thinking and talking my way out of problems, treating women like equals, and spending countless hours in libraries, bookstores and, well, books. All of that for far less than 25 cents a day, plus expenses.

SUPERMAN: SECRET IDENTITY - "Strange visitor from another planet. . .I can so relate."

Secret Identity by Kurt Busiek & Stuart Immonen

Set in the real world, SECRET IDENTITY examines the life of a young Kansas man with the unfortunate name of Clark Kent. All Clark wants is to be a writer, but his daily life is filled with the taunts and jibes of his peers, comparing him to that other Clark Kent — the one with super-powers. Until one day when Clark awakens to discover that he can fly...that he does in fact have super-strength! But where did these powers come from? And what's he going to do about it? - Amazon.com

For all of my comic nerd credentials, I've always been, at best, a casual Superman fan. I'm a Marvel guy at heart, and Superman was the epitome of the DC superhero - iconic and bland. That's not an assessment of the actual comics (for the most part). It was my perception of the character of Superman, and I rarely came across anything that changed that. Then I read Superman: Secret Identity, and suddenly I got it. Got what made Superman such a special character. I got the idea of Superman. And I got it from a comic that isn't even about the "real" Superman.

This was Superman stripped of all the traditional trappings. Gone were the supervillains, Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, the seemingly impenetrable crossovers and continuity. What remained was, in many ways, the original theme of the character. Clark Kent, in this story, is an average guy. He's not necessarily a nerd, but he's saddled with a name that carries some ridicule with it, and it makes him feel like an outsider. 

When he discovers he has powers, he revels in them. They're an escape, literally and figuratively. He's also a good kid, so he follows the example of the comic book Superman and uses his powers to help people where and when he can.  In terms of the story, he's both a very real and developed character, and a meta-commentary on Superman and his appeal.

One of the many smart choices Busiek makes is to keep this "Superman" mostly hidden. It's not Clark Kent that's the secret identity, it's Superman. He wears the costume, not to draw attention to himself, but to make it so that no one would believe he really exists. In this way, Clark remains the focus of the story, and can be the viewpoint character on who "Superman" is and what he stands for.

As well as all of that works (and it works better than I'm explaining it), it's artist Stuart Immonen's incredible visuals that manage to ground the story without losing any of the impact needed to sell just how amazing the advent of Clark's powers are. He balances the mundane and the fantastic better than any other artist I could imagine.

Each chapter of the book covers a different period in this Clark's life, and the development of his career as Superman. In this way it also manages something we can't really get with the mainstream Superman - a progression and development that only works because of the finite nature of the story. It's a level of reality to the character and his world that appealed to me, and made this a Clark and Superman whose story I didn't want to see end.

THE ROAD - "We're the good guys...we carry the fire."

A father and his son walk alone through burned America. Nothing moves in the ravaged landscape save the ash on the wind. It is cold enough to crack stones, and when the snow falls it is gray. The sky is dark. Their destination is the coast, although they don't know what, if anything, awaits them there. They have nothing; just a pistol to defend themselves against the lawless bands that stalk the road, the clothes they are wearing, a cart of scavenged food—and each other. - Amazon.com

Generally speaking, I try to avoid spoilers in these blogs. In the case of The Road, that will probably be impossible, so be warned.

Cormac McCarthy's post-apocalyptic novel can be an unrelentingly grim read. The focus throughout is on the two main characters - the unnamed father and son traveling along a mostly deserted, ash-covered road. The few characters we do meet range from cannibalistic gangs and nearly dead individuals who are avoided or quickly left behind. At it's core, however, is a story about hope.

The event that leaves the world in the state we find it is never explained in detail. The son, who seems to be five or ten years old, was born into this world, with no memory of any other life. The father guides his son through it, imparting new lessons on how to survive, while trying to "carry the fire" - a deliberate reference to the myth of Prometheus, giving humanity the gift of fire. It's a symbol of retaining what it is to be human when all other remnants of that have long since disappeared. At a point late in the novel, when the father questions whether the son believes him, the son replies "I have to." It's a response that can be taken in two ways. There is the implicit trust between a child and their parent (and that relationship is central to the book) as well as the son's need to remain hopeful, as it's the only keeping them alive - and the only reason to stay alive.

The journey itself is predicated on hope, as well. They're traveling south with the vague idea that it might be warmer there, the air might be easier to breathe. Life, meaning nothing more than survival, might be easier. We're given no reason to believe this is the case, nor are they. But to stay in one place, to accept the way things are, is to give up all hope and all reason for living.

The book ends (and this is where spoilers come in) with a seemingly hopeless note - the death of the father, finally succumbing to an illness that's been hinted at all along. It's an emotionally brutal scene, more so for the sudden and matter-of-fact way in which it's related. At this point, the two have been far closer to death and managed to come through it and go on. If the book had ended with that moment, it would still have been brilliantly and powerfully written. But McCarthy casts one last line of hope out when a small group of survivors sends someone out to meet the boy. 

Throughout the story, the father has warned the son about the potential danger of anyone they encounter, even those who seem the most helpless. The boy has trusted this his entire life, and has only recently begun to question it. The recurring conversation between the two has shifted over time from a reassurance (We're the good guys? We're the good guys. And we carry the fire? Yes, we carry the fire.) to a questioning of how they're still the good guys if they won't help anyone. As the boy sits by his dead father, holding a pistol he has two choices. He can either give in to the fear and mistrust that consumed his father, or he can hold on to the hope that sustained them both for so long. 

UPSTREAM COLOR - "..."

A man and woman are drawn together, entangled in the life cycle of an ageless organism. Identity becomes an illusion as they struggle to assemble the loose fragments of wrecked lives. - IMDb

Upstream Color is the second film by Shane Carruth, the writer/director/star of the critically acclaimed time travel movie, Primer. Where the inherent complexities of that movie's plot requires a near overload of expository dialogue (and still manages to be challenging to follow), Upstream Color takes the opposite approach. We never see the main characters speak to each other about what's going on. We see what they do and what happens to them, and those actions build on each other so that we understand why later things are done. It's the definition of being shown, rather than told, and it's done very effectively.

It's difficult to talk about the film without making it sound pretentious - it can be argued that it is. But watching the movie felt like looking at and being affected by a powerful work of art. There are long stretches of the movie without any dialogue, but Carruth (who also composed the score) uses music and sound, as well as beautiful visuals, to keep the audience engaged in the story.

None of that would be nearly effective without the strong performances of both Carruth and Amy Seimetz. When the movie begins, her character is a strong, confident woman who seems to have her life under control. After the inciting incident (which I won't spoil) she transforms into almost an entirely different woman. She has lost trust in not only everyone else, but, more importantly, herself.

Upstream Color is the type of science fiction I enjoy the most. It's not about the technology involved, or even about the ramifications of that technology on a society. Instead, it uses the premise to explore characters in new and different ways.

DAYTRIPPER - "Life is made of these moments, son..."

daytripper by Gabriel Bá and Fábio Moon

At this point, it's rare that I'm surprised by how good a book is. I have a list of writers that I follow, and I read their work expecting to enjoy it. I have a list of writers whose work I avoid because I haven't enjoyed it in the past. Most of the time, unfamiliar writers fall somewhere in the middle, before slowly making their way to one of the two lists. 

And then a book like daytripper comes along. 

I knew Moon and Bá from their earlier work as the artists on Casanova. The twin brothers worked on the series separately, each standing out in their own way. It was that work, along with Bá's work on Umbrella Academy, that led me to giving daytripper a shot. I expected a beautiful looking comic that might have an alright story. What I found was one of the most affecting stories I've experienced in any medium.

On the surface, daytripper is a story about death. Many deaths, in fact. The main character, Brás de Oliva Domingos, is an obituary writer/novelist who meets a series of ends, both timely and untimely. Don't worry - that's not a spoiler.

Beneath the layer of Brás' deaths, there's a deeper layer. Each chapter of the book is a significant day in his life. Bá and Moon use dying as a recurring motif, with each death reflecting the theme of that particular story. 

That alone would make daytripper a story worth reading. But the brothers go beyond that. At its heart, this is a story about moments. First kisses. Words said in anger. Missed opportunities. It's about living in those moments, recognizing them, and how powerfully they can alter the course of your life. 

I've read daytripper three times, now, and each time I take something new from it. It's a beautiful work from start to finish.

NEIL GAIMAN - "You get what everybody gets - you get a lifetime."

Neil Gaiman

I have many favorite writers. Ray Bradbury, Kurt Vonnegut, Warren Ellis, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Brian K. Vaughn, and several others (usually depending on which of them I've read most recently). Among them is Neil Gaiman. Writer of comics, short stories, novels, television, and film, Gaiman has written things I've loved, and things I haven't read yet, and am sure I will someday love.

In honor of the upcoming The Ocean at the End of the Lane, I wanted to talk about my love of Gaiman's writing. I first discovered Neil Gaiman (years after others already had) with The Sandman, his highly-acclaimed comic series from Vertigo. At the time, I hadn't read very many comics that weren't about superheroes, so Sandman was my introduction to the idea that comics could be about anything. ANYTHING. It's impossible for me to overstate the influence this would have on me.

The Sandman also shifted my focus from artists to writers, and I began seeking out any work by Gaiman I could find. I quickly discovered that he had written a novel with another favorite author of mine, Terry Pratchett (the Discworld series). Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch is a funny story about an angel and a demon who attempt to avert the final battle between Heaven and Hell, primarily because they like things just fine the way they are. It's darkly humorous and irreverent, and like the best stories contains a number of insightful truths about our own world.

Up next, for me, was Neverwhere. Written as an adaptation of Gaiman's teleplay, the novel tells the story of a man who discovers a secret London located both beneath and within the London he knows. At this point the only fantasy I'd read had been Tolkien-inspired books set in quasi-medieval settings featuring heroes battling evil forces for the fate of the world. Neverwhere, in contrast, is urban fantasy, where the magical elements aren't nearly as far away as one would like to think. 

American Gods merges, in some ways, elements of both Sandman and Neverwhere, bringing into conflict the gods of the old world and the gods of the new. As the protagonist, Shadow, travels across America, Gaiman casts an outsider's eye on this relatively young country. As he so often does, Gaiman allows us to see the familiar in a very unfamiliar way.

Gaiman's The Graveyard Book recasts an old classic (Kipling's The Jungle Book) with a gothic sensibility, transplanting the basic story to a cemetery populated with both the dead and undead. These creatures raise a young orphan, and hide and keep him safe from those that are trying to harm him.

Where Gaiman excels in all of his work is seemingly effortlessly blending genres and styles. Horror, fantasy, humor, slice of life, history - he defies strict categorization, and like many of the writers I love and am influenced by, simply tells interesting stories in interesting ways.

THE YIDDISH POLICEMEN'S UNION - "Strange times to be a Jew..."

The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon

For sixty years Jewish refugees and their descendants have prospered in the Federal District of Sitka, a "temporary" safe haven created in the wake of the Holocaust and the shocking 1948 collapse of the fledgling state of Israel. The Jews of the Sitka District have created their own little world in the Alaskan panhandle, a vibrant and complex frontier city that moves to the music of Yiddish. But now the District is set to revert to Alaskan control, and their dream is coming to an end.
Homicide detective Meyer Landsman of the District Police has enough problems without worrying about the upcoming Reversion. His life is a shambles, his marriage a wreck, his career a disaster. And in the cheap hotel where Landsman has washed up, someone has just committed a murder—right under his nose. When he begins to investigate the killing of his neighbor, a former chess prodigy, word comes down from on high that the case is to be dropped immediately, and Landsman finds himself contending with all the powerful forces of faith, obsession, evil, and salvation that are his heritage. - Amazon.com

This is the sixth novel by author Michael Chabon, and easily ranks as my favorite. Equal parts noir, alternate history, and fantasy, Chabon grounds both the fantastic elements, and the generally complex concept in a fully-realized world full of memorable characters. 

One of the most appealing aspects, for me, is the darkly humorous fatalistic streak that runs through all of the characters we meet. "Strange times to be a Jew." is the often repeated refrain, which punctuates what would otherwise be an unrelentingly grim crime novel. The protagonist, Meyer Landsman is a divorced homicide detective, living in a flophouse of a hotel, trying (and failing) to drink himself to death. Even the impending forced dismantling of the Jewish community that is the closest thing to a homeland that they have isn't enough to break through the self-loathing he feels. The murder of a his junkie neighbor (whom he barely even remembers) is just enough of an insult to the sensibilities of the man - the detective - that he used to be to prompt him to action. That action consists of little more than following the instincts, and hunches, that he stopped trusting a long time ago

The discovery that the victim was more than he seemed (and might have even been more than that), and the growing knowledge that powerful people want Landsman to stop only motivates him more. But, in fitting with the character, that motivation is at least partly influenced by that fatalistic - bordering on suicidal, at times - streak.

Surrounding Landsman are his boss, and ex-wife, Bina - equal parts no-nonsense bureaucrat and seeker of justice, his partner and cousin, Berko Shemets - a toweringly intimidating half-Jewish/half-Tlingit (native) family man, and an older generation of schemers and survivors who, as contemporaries of Landsman's long-dead father, loom large in both the history of the Sitka district, as well as in Landsman's personal history.

These characters all serve to both drive the story and ground it in a reality the reader can believe in. The way in which Chabon casually and matter-of-factly refers to things like a nuclear strike on Berlin to end WWII or the Cuban missile crisis seemingly turning that country into an alternate Vietnam never overwhelms, and only serves to enhance the story.

It's a compelling, engaging, funny, touching, and most importantly, entertaining novel that I can't recommend highly enough.